


Plan of Care

by shell



Series: Plan of Care [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Slow Build, nursing au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:04:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 72,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shell/pseuds/shell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"At its core, nursing is nurturative, generative, and protective." <em>Mosby's Dictionary of Medicine, Nursing, & Health Professions, 7th edition.</em></p><p>"You must use ingenuity, intuition, creativity, and past experience when tailoring a plan to meet [an individual's] needs." Lewis, Dirsen, Heitkemper, Bucher, & Camera, <em>Medical-Surgical Nursing: Assessment and Management of Clinical Problems, 8th edition.</em></p><p>A nursing AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Assessment

**Author's Note:**

> There is a lot of jargon here. Because it's from the point of view of a nursing professor, the jargon's not explained within the text, but I've put a bunch of definitions and explanations in the notes for each chapter. Please let me know if there's anything I missed that y'all would like explained.
> 
> It's probably fairly obvious that I am, shall we say, very familiar with teaching community college nursing. This story comes from the heart.
> 
> Beta and encouragement for this came from Ainsley, Dine, Watersword, Lyrstzha, King Touchy, Hederahelix, and all the friends who have put up with me talking about it for the last year and a half. I also owe thanks to Wordbutler, whose Motion Practice series reminded me it was okay to write about something you know really well.
> 
> This story is dedicated to Hederahelix. She knows why.
> 
> Triggers: please heed the warnings, and if you need them, there are notes on specific trigger warnings on specific chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Definitions/explanations**  
>  **a-fib:** atrial fibrillation (heart dysrhythmia, relatively benign)  
>  **Careplan:** detailed, written, individualized plan for implementation of nursing process for an individual patient/client. Hated by all nursing students (who have to write them) and nursing professors (who have to grade them).  
>  **Clinical:** the hospital-based, practical experience of nursing school. Usually an instructor will have 6-10 students in a clinical group at one time.  
>  **Chux:** the disposable pads placed under patients. They have a thin white absorbent pad on top of a blue plastic liner.  
>  **CNA:** certified nursing assistant  
>  **DON:** Director of Nursing  
>  **EMS:** Emergency Medical Services, which in Chicago is run through the Fire Department  
>  **IV:** Intravenous. The IV catheter (a plastic cannula guided in by a needle) is inserted into a patient's vein to enable delivery of IV fluids (through a pump to regulate the rate) and medications (through a syringe)  
>  **LPN:** licensed practical nurse; less training  & responsibility than a registered nurse. Can't do initial assessments, takes lower acuity patients. Scope of practice varies slightly by state. LVN/licensed vocational nurse in Texas and California.  
>  **Nursing degrees:** ADN (associate's degree in nursing, from a community college), BSN (bachelors of science in nursing, from a 4 year college), MS or MSN: masters, usually some form of advanced practice nursing (nurse practitioner, nurse midwife, clinical nurse specialist, certified registered nurse anesthetist). Phil has his CNS in critical care with an additional focus on end of life care; he also has extra education and experience in cardiac telemetry.  
>  **The nursing process:** assessment, diagnosis, planning, intervention, evaluation  
>  **OSD:** Office for Students with Disabilities  
>  **prn:** as needed  
>  **v-fib:** ventricular fibrillation (heart dysrhythmia, requires defibrillation; extremely serious/life-threatening)

_Assessment: an identification…of the needs, preferences, and abilities of a patient. --Mosby's Dictionary of Medicine, Nursing, & Health Professions, 7th ed._

"Oh, you've got Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff in your group," Selene Gallio drawled. Phil was careful not to let his distaste show, but sweet Jesus he hated her voice, all slow and nasal and so very persistent. If you weren't careful, Selene would trap you in a pointless conversation for hours, leaving you completely exhausted. 

"You have to watch out for those two. I swear that Clint kid is the laziest student I've ever had. And his _careplans,_ Phil, they were a _disaster._ He's lucky he did so well in theory; I was meeting with him every other week in clinical." She was looking at him with that overly serious expression she always had, her watery blue eyes widened dramatically.

Phil tried to think of something to say to cut her off, but he knew from experience that nothing ever worked. Selene was something you just had to endure. If only he'd gotten away before she'd seen him. If only the department chair would suddenly appear in the hallway, demanding his attention. If only another colleague would show up to get him out of this misery.

He looked up and down the hallway, but all the office doors remained stubbornly closed. 

"He and that Natasha girl are _very_ close," Selene went on, her finger pointing to Barton's name on the list. At least that kept her from reaching out to grab his arm. 

"She never did anything I had to meet with her about, and her careplans were decent, but there's something about her that just rubs me the wrong way," Selene continued. "She gets way too much attention from the guys, Phil, and the way she responds when one of them smiles at her is seriously creepy. The only guy she can even _tolerate_ is Clint; I have no idea how she's going to respond to having a male _instructor._ You want my advice, you'll keep those two separate, and you'd better watch Clint like a hawk."

Selene was the worst instructor at his campus; no one with a brain would trust anything she said. Phil would wait until he met his students before forming an impression, thank you. He glanced at his watch and hid a smile. There was a way out of this after all.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said blandly. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go set up for IV lab." He walked rapidly towards the stairs, sighing in relief as soon as he turned the corner. 

He mulled over his plans for the semester while checking that the lab personnel had set up everything the way they had requested. Beth had probably already been there--it was her lab--but she wasn't as thorough as he was. Both she and Lorraine would appreciate his last-minute check, even if they never said anything.

The cannulas, the tubing, and the IV bags were arranged at the front of the room, but the only IV pump present was the one that did nothing but alarm the moment you turned it on. He searched through the other lab and rolled the pump he found there across the hall and into their lab. He checked that all the dummies had at least one arm where the students could stick them, complete with red food dye "blood," made sure the arms had blue chux pads underneath them to protect the linens, and walked through the lab one more time before letting the students in.

This was only his third semester teaching full time, but he knew what to expect from a typical clinical group. There would be at least one student who made him want to pull out what remained of his hair in frustration, one who tried really hard but just didn't have what it took to become a nurse, and one who made it worth missing dinner with Henry and Ava once a week for his evening shift clinical. He wondered which categories Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff would fall into.

The spring semester had, to put it bluntly, sucked. He'd lost three students before spring break: one from repeated clinical safety issues, one who had to withdraw for personal reasons, and a third who'd seen the writing on the wall after she failed the midterm. Two more had failed the class, despite meeting with both Phil and the tutor weekly. Those two were back to try again this semester, along with the one who'd withdrawn when her grandmother got sick, but they'd be with a different clinical instructor. He'd have a new group of ten to work with, and he'd get his first look at them in lab that morning.

Beth was doing the lecture and demonstration, but she left some time before she started for Phil and Lorraine to introduce themselves to the class. He went through his usual deliberately vague spiel about going to UIC for his BSN, getting his masters in California, and coming back to help a family member who was ill. He appreciated that Beth and Lorraine felt comfortable discussing their kids, but that didn't mean the students needed to learn anything about his personal life. If a few astute students picked up on the subtext behind the years he'd worked at San Francisco General, that was fine, but there was no need to broadcast it.

Beth would lecture for at least an hour, and the lab was set up; he could use the lecture time to put together packets for his clinical orientation. He was in his office stuffing folders, copies carefully organized in piles all over the desk, when his beeper went off. He didn't recognize the number. 

When he dialed, the phone was answered on the first ring. "This is Natasha," a woman said, speaking loudly over the sound of a siren.

"Hello, Natasha, this is Phil Coulson; you paged me," Phil answered. If this was Natasha Romanoff, she should have been in class with the other students.

"Yes, hello, Professor Coulson," Natasha said. "Clint and I are in your clinical group, and we got stuck when our relief didn't show up on time. We're heading to a call right now. I apologize, but we're going to be late for lab. We'll get there as soon as we can."

"Thanks for letting me know," Phil said. Selene hadn't mentioned that her problem students were paramedics. Knowing her, she'd never bothered to find out. "I'll need to meet with you and Clint to arrange for some make-up time."

"We'll do that, sir," Natasha said. "Sorry, I've got to go."

Missing any lab could set a student back, more than they ever realized, but if Clint and Natasha were medics, they already knew how to start an IV. They'd just need some tutoring in how to do it with aseptic technique, and maybe some help with how to run the IV pumps. And how to push meds correctly; medics were used to doing everything too fast.

At least he wouldn't need to worry about putting them with telemetry patients once they got to the hospital. It was always a relief to find a student who actually knew something about dysrhythmias and cardiac meds. Having two in his clinical group was a lucky break, no matter what Selene thought.

He went back down to the lab once he'd finished with the folders. Beth was just wrapping up. After the break, he wandered around while the students practiced, introducing himself and getting the sense of the class and his clinical group. They'd been practicing for about twenty minutes when a woman with fiery red hair walked in, accompanied by a man with truly impressive arms. 

Both of them were wearing their uniforms. Their cargo pants fit closely enough that Phil could see the man's ass was as spectacular as his arms. The woman was stunning, her curves in no way hidden by her uniform. He could see how she'd attract a lot of attention, despite exuding a _don't fuck with me_ attitude nearly as impressive as her partner's muscles. 

Phil swallowed, reminded himself that he was here to teach, nothing else, and walked up to the students. "You must be Clint and Natasha," he said, his professorial mask firmly in place.

"Professor Coulson?" Natasha said, one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised. Clint was watching him closely but didn't say anything.

"Phil is fine," he said.

"We've got our scrubs in our packs, but we thought we'd better come here before we changed," Clint said. He was wearing hearing aids in both ears, but nothing about his voice suggested long-term, severe hearing loss. 

"That's all right," Phil said. "As far as I'm concerned, a uniform is a uniform. You'll find we aren't as strict as the first semester faculty."

"That's not what I hear, sir," Clint said, grinning at him. "Word is you're a bit of a hard-ass. It's okay, though; me and Nat like a challenge."

"I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Barton," Phil said. It took more effort than it usually did to keep his expression flat. He explained the purpose of the lab--Clint hadn't remembered to print his assignment out, but Natasha handed him a second copy without a word--and let them join their classmates.

By the end of the lab he'd already tentatively identified four students he didn't think would make it (only one of them in his clinical group), three who thought they knew everything already (including another paramedic), two who had heard about his reputation and were terrified every time he came close to them, and one he thought might have ADHD. 

Not too bad, in other words.

When he talked to Beth and Lorraine, they all agreed it was a much stronger group this time.

"Who was that who came in late, Phil?" Beth asked him. She leaned towards her desk to peer at the enrollment list, nearly tipping out of her chair. They were already down to twenty-nine; one student had withdrawn that day.

"Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton," he answered. "They let me know they were running late; I'll grab them before class and set up some make-up lab time for them."

"Did you catch a load of that gun show?" Lorraine asked, pointing at her bicep and grinning. "Hope the kid spends more time on his studies than he does at the gym."

"Remember that guy from a few years ago, the one who dropped?" Beth asked her. "Phil, that was before your time, I think, but this guy made your student look like a weakling; we all figured he was using steroids."

"The redhead looked pretty tough, too," Lorraine said, ignoring Beth. "I bet you'll have your hands full with those two, Phil."

"At least they'll know the difference between a-fib and v-fib," Phil pointed out. "Did either of you get anything from OSD on Clint Barton? He's wearing hearing aids."

"Yeah, I noticed that, too," Lorraine said. "I asked the first semester faculty and they said he never asked for any accommodation, but he's got an amplified stethoscope. I guess just keep an eye on him."

Phil nodded, unsurprised. Clint didn't strike him as the type to ask for help unless he absolutely had to. Most paramedics didn't.

***  
Phil ate at his desk, as usual, flipping between lecture notes and his email in between bites. The phone rang just after he'd taken a bite, but he managed to swallow it quickly enough to catch the call before it went to voice mail. "Phil Coulson," he said.

"Hey, Florence, when are you orienting your candy stripers?"

"I fail to see why that's any concern of yours, Tony," Phil said, wishing he'd let the call go to voice mail after all. 

"Didn't you hear? I'm meeting all the clinical groups in the first and second semesters," Tony said. "It's part of the scholarship program."

Right. There'd been something in the minutes of the last board meeting about the Stark Foundation endowing some new scholarship fund for nursing students. "I wasn't aware meeting you was a requirement for the SHIELD scholarship," he said. 

Phil wasn't sure what was going on; Tony usually blew off whatever official duties he could. Phil tried not to feel flattered by the fact that he'd flown to Chicago for this. He wasn't entirely successful.

"Oh, it's not the SHIELD scholarship," Tony said. "That's for students who want to advance their degrees, ADN to BSN, BSN to Masters, that sort of thing. You could take advantage of it if you went ahead and got your doctorate. I'd fund your tuition myself."

"That's not necessary," Phil said, knowing he'd be ignored.

"You know, Nurse Coulson sounds weird--does anyone really call nurses that outside of movies? If you let me fund your education, you wouldn't be the only one on the board without a doctorate, and I could call you Dr. Coulson. That sounds way better than Professor Coulson. Let's not even discuss Nurse Coulson, because that just sounds wrong. I mean, I know it's your profession, Professor, but still."

He _really_ shouldn't have picked up the phone. "As I've told you," _multiple times,_ "I have no interest in pursuing a doctorate," Phil said. "Besides, you don't have one either."

"Totally beside the point I'm trying to make here, Nurse Ratched. I don't need a doctorate; everyone already knows I'm a genius."

"What do you want, Tony?" Phil asked wearily.

"Half the entering students and several in your class qualified for the Coulson Scholarship, and I want to meet them," Tony said. 

"The _Coulson_ Scholarship? Please tell me you're joking," Phil said. He rubbed at his forehead, envisioning countless banquets where his presence would be required.

"Nope, no joke. The Eleanor Coulson Memorial Scholarship is a real thing, which you would already know if you'd bothered to show up at the last board meeting. How was Henry's Little League game, anyway?"

"You named a scholarship fund after Ellie?" Phil asked, sitting up quickly. "Why?"

"I wanted to name it after you, but Potts said no," Tony answered. "She said you'd appreciate this more. I could change it back, though--"

"No," Phil said. "Tony…I don't know what to say. Thank you." He'd attend as many banquets as Pepper could arrange if it meant an opportunity to honor Ellie.

"It's the least I could do," Tony said. "You're holding the line out there, Hot Lips; don't think I don't know that."

Phil had met Tony Stark when the defibrillator he'd jury-rigged in a cave in Afghanistan malfunctioned at a Chicago benefit. He'd been brought to Mt. Sinai, because it was close and it had the best cardiac team in the city. 

The DON had informed Phil that being assigned to Stark as his primary nurse was an honor. That hadn't really helped. He'd done his job, though, and while he'd been caring for Tony, he'd stopped a student from making a major medication error that could have killed him. 

It hadn't been the student's fault; her instructor hadn't checked the medication with her. Thanks to Phil, Loki Laufeyson had been fired; he'd had it out for Phil ever since. Tony, on the other hand, had become an instant advocate of advancing nursing education. Phil had been affected as well; he'd finally taken Nick up on his offer to teach full time. The next semester Nick had resigned as department chair to work for the Initiative, but by then Phil was as in love with teaching as he was with nursing. 

"I'll tell Henry and Ava tonight," Phil said. 

Tony was one of the most arrogant, irritating, self-absorbed men he'd ever met, but he was also brilliant, dedicated, and generous to a fault. His company's commitment to health care continued to expand, his foundation donated substantially to the Initiative, and he seemed strangely determined to pursue some sort of friendship with Phil. 

It didn't hurt that he shared Phil's feelings about his sister's ex-husband. That had been an interesting conversation.

Tony had tried to get Phil to accept some sort of gift ever since his hospitalization, but Phil had always turned him down. This, however, was a gift he couldn't possibly refuse. "They're a bit young to understand, but they'll appreciate it when they're older. I certainly do."

"Great, so that's settled. You still need to tell me when your orientation is; two of the recipients are in your group."

"Thursday. We've got the conference room on the third floor," Phil said, succumbing to the inevitable.

"You're probably making them show up early, aren't you?" Tony said. "You nurses are _evil_ when it comes to mornings. Do you have a lunch break planned?"

"From 11:30 to 12:30," Phil confirmed.

"Great. I'll have food sent in. See you then," Tony said, hanging up.

Phil picked up the framed photo of Ellie and the kids taken just after her diagnosis. She'd died two years later, the day after her forty-second birthday, when Ava was only three. She didn't really remember her mother, and Phil wasn't sure how much Henry did, either, although he was four years older than his sister. Thanks to Tony Stark, the Eleanor Coulson Memorial Scholarship Fund would keep her name alive. 

He'd have to call his parents; they'd want to know. He'd call in the morning, when his father would be on the golf course.

He put the picture back on his desk when someone knocked on his door. "Come in," he called. 

Natasha and Clint entered, both clutching large travel mugs like they were rare and precious objects. The mugs had the Chicago EMS logo on them, and Clint's had a sizeable dent in it. 

"Coming to class without sleep isn't the best idea," Phil told them. The standard shifts for paramedics included at least one overnight.

"It won't happen again, sir," Natasha said. "We're both cutting back to one weekend a month."

 _They're the two who got the scholarship,_ Phil thought, even though he had no real basis for it.

"We got a few hours between calls," Clint added. "We'll be fine." He took a sip from his mug, grimacing slightly. 

Phil went over the basics of the lecture they'd missed and told them to put in some extra time in open lab, then sent them off to class. Clint didn't say anything about his hearing, and Phil didn't ask, although he noticed the way Clint focused on Phil's mouth when he talked. He made sure to face Clint directly and keep his speech clear.

***  
Phil was tied up in meetings and didn't see any of his students again until Thursday morning. Clint and Natasha, he was pleased to see, showed up early. They had their travel mugs again, but they looked more rested. He passed them their folders and settled in to wait for the rest of the group.

"I heard you work here, Professor," Clint said. 

Phil looked up from his notes. The neckline of the white scrub top Clint was wearing exposed his neck and a little bit of his chest, which was as well muscled as the rest of him. Despite the overly aggressive air conditioning, he'd draped his lab coat over the back of the chair rather than wear it. The short sleeves of his scrubs showed even more of his arms than his paramedic uniform had.

"That's right," Phil said, telling himself to focus. "I still do some shifts prn, mostly telemetry, sometimes house supervisor."

"Will we have clinical on the telemetry floor, sir?" Natasha asked.

Phil nodded. It was a little odd to be addressed as "sir" all the time, but he'd already figured the two of them for ex-military. "I share telemetry and orthopedics with the fourth semester faculty. Since you two have cardiac experience, I'll probably start you there."

"Great," Clint said, satisfaction evident in his face.

The rest of the group started trickling in: a forty-ish white woman with a nose piercing and an MFA who wanted to become a midwife. An emotional blonde in her twenties who'd decided on nursing as a career after her father died. An African American woman who'd been a CNA for three years; she exuded a no-nonsense attitude that Phil immediately appreciated. Two LPNs from Nigeria who seemed even more joined at the hip than Clint and Natasha; it turned out they were sisters. A bearded red-head who alternated a bright smile with a confused expression (he was one of the students Phil and his co-workers were worried about). The last student, a white woman in her late twenties or early thirties, rushed in twenty minutes late, saying that she'd overslept; he'd have to watch her closely as well.

He used his usual icebreakers, passed out his usual paperwork, talked over the charting system, and went over his general expectations before lunch. He had to repeat himself more than usual; between the emotional blonde (Ginny), the sisters (Joy and Grace; they had some ESL issues) and the befuddled red-head (Rick), he was getting a lot of blank looks. Clint, Natasha, LaRhonda (the CNA), Constance (the MFA), and the latecomer (Marie) seemed to be getting it, at least. Phil caught Clint giving Natasha annoyed glances a few times, usually when one of the other students was asking a question Phil had already answered two or three times.

Phil tried to spread his attention evenly between the students, but his eye was drawn again and again to Clint. His expression didn't display much interest, but Phil caught him nodding frequently enough that he knew Clint was taking in everything he said, and he was watching Phil closely enough that Phil figured he was lip-reading. He responded to Phil's occasional attempts at dry humor with smirks, once going so far as to smile broadly. The smile transformed Clint's face from oddly attractive to breathtaking; when he met Phil's eyes, Phil felt the corner of his mouth go up involuntarily. After that, he redoubled his efforts to pay equal attention to the entire group.

Three people in Stark Industries t-shirts arrived at 11:15 and started setting up the food: several varieties of pizza, salad, drinks, cookies. There was enough food to feed everyone three times over, as usual, and a pile of t-shirts of varying sizes. Phil knew Stark would have provided a similar, even larger, set-up in the nurses' break room. Some of his colleagues joked that they'd gained ten pounds since the day Tony Stark first showed up on their floor; there were regular deliveries whether or not he was in town. 

Ginny was breathless with excitement when Tony walked in the room and greeted Phil. Fortunately, Tony was on his best behavior, although he tried to flirt with Natasha. She whispered something to him that made him step back, his face a little pale beneath the ever-present tan. Natasha met Phil's eyes with a tiny smirk, and he nodded at her approvingly. Clint stayed back and watched, a proud look on his face. 

That was the moment when it hit Phil. He'd obviously been even more affected by Clint than he'd realized if he'd managed to miss that Clint and Natasha were a couple. Well, now he knew; that should help him move past his ridiculous attraction to the man. Not that he should need any help; the entire situation was unprofessional and embarrassing, even if no one would ever know about it.

Tony pulled Clint and Natasha aside after lunch, handing them folders embossed with the logo of his foundation. Phil had been right about who the scholarship recipients were.

Thor showed up while Tony was still telling the students how his captivity and its consequences had led to Stark Industries switching focus from weapons to medical technology. Phil wasn't paying much attention; he'd heard the story several times before.

"Philip!" Thor said, pulled Phil into a hug, and talked quietly with him about plans for their next board meeting. 

After Tony finished, Phil introduced his students. Joy and Grace put their heads together and giggled behind their hands, more appreciative of Thor's appearance than they were of Tony's. Even though Thor wasn't really Phil's type, he could certainly understand where they were coming from; he'd heard people referring to Dr. Odinson as a god more than once. Eventually Pepper showed up and ushered Tony out the door with a wave at Phil. Thor left with them after another hug. 

"How do you know Tony Stark, Professor?" Ginny asked once the door had closed. 

"I work with him on the Strategic Healthcare Initiative for Evaluation, Leadership and Diagnosis," Phil said. "Dr. Odinson is part of SHIELD as well."

"Isn't that the group that Steven Rogers started?" Constance asked.

"Dr. Rogers and Nick Fury," Phil confirmed, leaving out the part that he'd played. "Now, let's get back to the agenda. I'd like to talk to you about my expectations for homework."

***  
They finished up orientation with a tour and a scavenger hunt, and the semester moved on from there. Clint asked to move up to two patients the second day of clinical, confessing that he'd been a bit bored the previous semester. Phil gave Natasha two as well, playing a hunch. She didn't say a word until after post-conference. Then she thanked him.

Clint and Natasha remained Phil's strongest students in the hospital setting, but Clint was one of several who were struggling with careplans, even with Natasha's help. The first time he made an appointment to meet with Phil, Natasha accompanied him. "I'd like it if she stayed, sir," Clint said. "That way she can remind me of anything I forget."

"If you're both comfortable with it, that's fine with me," Phil answered. From the look Clint and Natasha shared, he felt like he'd passed some sort of test. 

The second time Phil sat down with him to go over things in his office, this time without Natasha, Clint admitted that he'd left school at an early age. He'd only gotten his GED the year before he started his medic training in the Army. His spelling, grammar, and general writing abilities were atrocious; Phil was surprised he'd done as well as he had up to that point.

"I know it's a problem," Clint said, looking down. "I'd really like to get my BSN, maybe even a masters some day, but I don't know if that's even possible."

Phil waited until he looked up again. "It's definitely possible," he said, making sure Clint understood. "You'll have to work hard, though."

"I can work hard," Clint said, his shoulders set. "I just don't know where to start."

Phil sent Clint to the writing center. The tutor there emailed him to let him know Clint was meeting with him weekly and making progress. Phil met with him weekly as well, and he saw steady improvement in Clint's careplans. His charting improved as well.

After another few weeks, Clint mentioned that he'd had a hard time following Selene's lectures. Her drawl was hard to read, and she tended to look at the screen projecting her slides rather than at the class. 

"I appreciate that you don't do that, sir," he told Phil. 

Phil shrugged, hiding how pleased he was at the compliment. "I've never liked PowerPoint."

***  
Phil was in his office one Monday afternoon, editing his questions for the next exam. The nursing school's server was not cooperating that day, and eventually Phil gave up, shutting the computer down with a click of the mouse that was distinctly unsatisfying. Clint was waiting on the bench in the hallway outside, and Phil guiltily realized he was already running late for their appointment. He was just about to call Clint in when Ava burst through the door, Darcy and Henry right behind her. 

"I'm sorry, boss," Darcy said. She was wearing one of her many knitted monstrosities on her head and another around her neck, despite the unseasonably warm weather. "I know I said I could keep them another hour, but Jane called, and this is the only time she has free to help me with that stupid biochemistry class she made me take."

"It's okay," Phil said, pulling Ava into a hug. "Hey, guys, how was school?"

"We learned some more about anatomy today in science, but Ms. Walsh doesn't understand it as well as you do," Ava said, squirming a little. "I think she was mad when I told her about the duodenum, jejunum, and ischium."

"Ileum," Phil corrected absently, letting her go. "The ischium's part of the hip. How about you, kiddo?" he asked Henry, who these days thought of himself as too old for automatic hugs. 

"It was fine," Henry said, looking at his shoe. 

Phil looked up at Darcy, raising an eyebrow. "Your demon child broke my iPod," she said. "Again."

"Henry, what did I tell you about leaving Darcy's things alone?" Phil said, frowning at him. "We'll have to discuss an appropriate punishment later; for now, get started on your homework. Darcy, let me know how much to replace it and I'll add it to your next check, if that's all right."

"That'll work," she said. "I'll pick one up after I finish studying with Jane. She and Thor are headed out for some sort of conference tomorrow morning."

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Phil called.

"I'm sorry, sir. I can come back tomorrow after clinical," Clint said hesitantly, sticking his head through the door. 

"I think if you can just give me a minute, I can get these two settled down," Phil said, grateful that he'd managed to garner himself one of the largest offices in the building. Sometimes knowing Tony came in handy. "Ava, Henry, this is Mr. Barton; he's one of my students."

"Hello there, Mr. Barton," Darcy said, holding out her hand and looking him up and down. "I'm Darcy. I look after these two in exchange for room, board, and a small pittance."

It wasn't really a pittance. Phil took a moment to be grateful for the combination of circumstances that left him able to provide for the kids. Ellie's ex-husband's wealth didn't make up for what he'd put her through during their marriage, but that didn't mean it didn't come in handy.

"Uh, hi, Darcy," Clint said, shaking her hand. "I'm Clint."

"Darcy, you said Jane was waiting," Phil said pointedly. Clint already had a girlfriend; he didn't need Darcy giving him the eye.

"Right," she answered. "I'll see you at home. I might not be in until late, though."

"I've got clinical tomorrow, so you'll need to take the kids to school," Phil reminded her.

"Will do, boss," she said, giving him a sloppy salute. "Clint, it was a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Clint answered. 

It was awkward until Phil set them up to work on homework in the far corner of the office, but the kids behaved well. Clint barely needed any tutoring. 

"You're on the right track here," Phil said, genuinely pleased at his progress. "Just make sure all your interventions have appropriate rationales, and you'll be fine."

"Good, thanks," Clint said, smiling. Jesus, the man was ridiculously attractive already; it was completely unfair how he looked when he smiled. 

"You're really doing well," Phil said, because he was a firm believer in positive reinforcement. "Let me know if there's anything else I can do to help, okay?"

"You've done a lot already," Clint said. "Seriously, sir, I really appreciate everything you've done. You've been great."

Phil couldn't stop his smile from broadening. "You're welcome. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

Clint nodded. "Bye, Mr. Barton," Ava said, looking very like her mother had at that age.

Clint ruffled her hair and said goodbye to both kids, and Phil shoved how adorable it was to the back of his mind.

***  
Phil met with Clint once more towards the end of the semester, mostly to go over his overall progress in clinical. "You've done an excellent job this fall, Clint," he said. 

"Thank you, sir," Clint said, and it looked like he was blushing. He looked over at the picture of Ellie and the kids. "Is that their mom?" he asked. 

Phil paused for a moment. "You don't have to answer," Clint added. "I was just wondering if she's the person my scholarship's named after."

Phil nodded slowly. "Yes, to both questions. She died five years ago. Ovarian cancer."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Clint said. "Were you married long?"

Phil shook his head. "No, Ellie was my sister," he said.

"Oh," Clint said, his eyes wide. "I didn't realize; I'm sorry if I offended you."

"No offense taken," Phil reassured him. "It's an easy mistake to make, I suppose."

He could see Clint wondering, so he went ahead and answered the question he hadn't asked. "Their father's not in the picture. Which is fortunate, because he's…let's just say he's not exactly a good person." There was no reason to tell Clint about Justin Hammer, even if Phil wanted to.

"Did your sister know Mr. Stark?" Clint asked. 

"No," Phil said. "He knows about her, and he thought the scholarship would be a nice gesture. Despite the self-absorption and remarkably short attention span, he's got a good heart." God, had he really just said that to a student? Clint laughed, though, and it wasn't as if Tony would mind.

Phil thought for a moment, leaning back in his chair. "It would have been entertaining if they had met. Ellie would have shut him down with a look. Once she got rid of Justin, she didn't tolerate any of that shit; Natasha reminds me a little of her. Uh, sorry for the language," he added; he made it a point not to swear in front of his students. Of course, he also made it a point not to talk about his personal life, not to complain about Tony Stark, and not to pay attention to his students' looks. It looked like he was four for four with Clint.

Clint laughed. "I'm a medic, Phil, and I was in the Army. You'd have to do a lot worse than that to offend me."

There was a knock on his door: the next student. "I'll be with you in a minute," Phil called through the door. 

"That'll be Nat," Clint said. "Come in," he called out, grinning at Phil.

The reason for the grin had to be the brightly colored gift bag that Natasha brought in to the office and handed to Phil. "This isn't necessary," he said. His clinical group had given him a gift on their last day at the hospital, and Phil knew everyone had contributed to it. 

"We wanted to get you something just from us," Clint said, looking at Natasha.

"We both really appreciate everything you've done for us this semester," Natasha said. 

Phil raised an eyebrow, because Natasha had come to his office for Clint's first appointment, but she hadn't needed any other help. He'd talked to her at clinical now and again about her time in the army, or what it was like being one of the few women paramedics in the city, but that was it.

"You treated me the same as everyone else," Natasha explained. When he kept looking at her, confused, she added, "Other people--men, mostly--they don't do that."

"That's a shame," Phil said after a moment. 

Her smile was small, but it lit up her face the same way Clint's grin lit up his. 

"Go ahead, open it," Clint said, nudging Phil with his elbow.

"All right," Phil said. He took out the coffee first: dark roast, Sumatran, from a local roaster. "This looks great," he said. 

"That's from me," Natasha said. "The mug's from both of us."

Phil laughed out loud when he took the mug out of its box. It had Superman flying and was emblazoned "Fighting _Villains_ and _Mornings!"_

"They didn't have one that said 'Fighting Idiots and Mornings,' but we figured this one was close enough," Natasha said, with another smile.

"It's perfect," Phil said. "Thank you."

"There's something from me at the bottom," Clint said, shifting in his chair. 

Phil looked curiously at the plastic container, which was lined with foil. When Phil opened it, he smelled cinnamon, nutmeg, and pumpkin. He pulled back the foil. "Are these scones?" he asked, taking one out of the container. It was still warm. "Did you _make_ these?"

"Yeah," Clint said, glancing at him before looking back down. "I figured you might like them--you brought scones to post-conference that one time."

"I do," Phil said. He took a careful bite, trying to keep from getting crumbs everywhere, but it was impossible to maintain any dignity once the flavor hit his taste buds. "Oh my God, this is incredible," he said, his eyes closing with pleasure.

"I'm glad you like them, sir," Clint said. When Phil opened his eyes, he could see a flush of pink across the top of Clint's cheeks. 

"Yes, well, thank you," Phil said, feeling awkward. "Clint, Natasha, it was a pleasure working with you this semester. My door's always open, even after you move on to other classes. Please don't hesitate to drop by if there's anything you need, or just to let me know how you're doing." He said it to every student, but he'd rarely meant it this much.

"I'll do that," Clint said, shaking his hand, holding on for a moment before dropping it. "Thanks again, Phil."

"I'll see you at the final," Phil said. Natasha gave him a quick, wordless hug, and walked out. Clint smiled at Phil again and followed her.


	2. Diagnosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta thanks to the usual suspects, plus Shaenie! Chapter 3 is currently in beta.
> 
> I'm not adding a warning to the story, but check the end notes for possible trigger(s).

It was their fifth Christmas without Ellie. While each of them had moments where they mourned her all over again, those moments were fewer and easier to deal with than in the past. Phil knew, after much practice, how to make the right cookies (it was essential that they have frosting in every color of the rainbow when it came time to decorate them). Henry shoveled the driveway without (much) prompting. They all went along with the pretense that Ava still believed in Santa--including Ava. The days went by much too quickly. 

New Year's Eve at the annual benefit Stark hosted for SHIELD was much the same as the previous years: extravagant, expensive (at least his tux still fit, although his tailor tried to talk him into a new one), and mind-numbingly boring. He tried to play the part of an uninteresting functionary so people would ignore him, but Pepper dragged him over to schmooze the hoi polloi with her. Tony schmoozed the models and actresses who always showed up when he was around. Phil supposed the donations were worth the hassle, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

The semester started again a few days after he got back. He caught glimpses of Clint, Natasha, and other former students in the halls, but his focus was necessarily on his new cohort. They turned out to be the most challenging group he'd had to that point. By the second week of the semester he felt a level of stress he usually only experienced during the last week. There were two students he'd already put on probation for med errors, and three more who'd barely passed first semester on their second try. 

He almost didn't notice Natasha waiting outside the lab the day of his students' first exam; he was too busy working through the slots he'd have to schedule for all the students who he expected would fail the exam. As he walked towards her, Clint came out to join her. Natasha smiled at Phil and pointed towards him. 

"Hey, sir," Clint said when he turned around. "How's your semester going?" He was wearing a tight purple t-shirt and well-worn jeans. 

"It's fine," Phil said, ignoring, as usual, the warmth he felt when Clint met his eyes. "How are things for you two?"

"Ask us tomorrow, after our exam," Natasha said, with a miniscule shift in her expression that Phil was pretty sure indicated a smirk. 

"I can't believe half the test is over shit like immunizations," Clint grumbled. "It's like I got PALS certified for nothing."

"I'm confident you'll both do well," Phil said diplomatically, patting Clint on the back. "Speaking of exams, I have to go," he added, tilting his chin towards the testing center. "It was good to see you. Let me know how the rest of the semester goes, okay?"

"Sure," Clint said. 

There was something in his voice that made Phil want to pull Clint into his office and do something ridiculous like make him hot chocolate. He settled for squeezing Clint's forearm once and letting it go. "I mean it," he said, looking at Clint steadily until he nodded. "You too, Natasha," he added, waiting until she nodded as well.

"Are your office hours the same as they were last semester?" Natasha asked. She was looking at Clint, not Phil.

"They are," Phil confirmed. He saw Lorraine coming down the hall and said, "I'm sorry. I really do have to go. Good luck on your exam tomorrow."

"Thanks, sir," Clint said.

***  
A week later, he'd just ushered the last student of the day out of his office and was gathering up his belongings when he heard a knock. He toyed with the idea of ignoring it (it was half an hour after his office hours were supposed to end), but opened the door instead.

"Hey, sir, sorry to disturb you," Clint said hesitantly. He was wearing the jeans again, this time with a grey t-shirt, his coat slung over his arm. "I guess you're heading home, huh?"

"It's okay," Phil said, holding the door open. "What can I do for you, Clint?"

"I've stopped by a few times, but you were always with someone," Clint said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not anything important. I should let you leave."

"Don't worry about it; I have some time," Phil said. He had careplans to grade once he got home, and this semester's offerings were horrific. Talking to Clint was infinitely preferable. "Come in, sit down, and tell me how you've been. How's Natasha?"

"She's great," Clint said, dropping his coat--a pea-coat, deep purple--on top of his backpack. "Acing all the tests, like always. She said to tell you hi if I saw you."

"Tell her hello from me," Phil said with a nod. "Are you enjoying pediatrics?"

"It's okay, I guess," Clint said, shrugging. "It's a little weird. It reminds me of some stuff from psych, first semester."

"Like what?" Phil asked, getting the impression this was more than a casual visit.

"They put me in with the kids during psych. The adolescent program at Lakeshore," Clint said, fiddling with the zipper on his backpack. "I mean, I volunteered, because…"

"Because?" Phil prompted. 

"I'm in peds-onc now," Clint said. "That guy, Dr. Odinson, Thor, he's really something."

"That he is," Phil agreed, trusting that the tangent would lead somewhere eventually. "He's an excellent physician and researcher, but it's the way he is with his patients that really makes him special."

Clint nodded. "Yeah, he's great. I've been taking care of this one kid…." He fiddled with his backpack again.

"Something about your current patient reminds you of the kids at Lakeshore?" Phil asked.

"I was a foster kid," Clint said, looking up briefly. "Don't know if you knew that, but me and Nat both, we were in the system."

"I didn't know," Phil said, honored that Clint trusted him with so much of his personal history. "Is that how you met?"

Clint shook his head. "We met during medic training in the army. Some jerk tried to grab her ass in a bar."

"I'm guessing that didn't go well for him," Phil said dryly.

"You've got that right," Clint said, with a hint of a smirk. "She took him down, and I took care of his buddy. We've been friends ever since. Didn't find out we had the foster thing in common until after I got hurt. Uh, that's why I wear these," he said, gesturing at his ears. 

Phil nodded, knowing it wasn't his injury that Clint wanted to talk about. "I imagine some of the kids at Lakeshore were also foster children," he said carefully. "Maybe some of the kids you've seen this semester, too. It must bring up a lot of feelings and memories."

Clint nodded again. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. His shoulders were tense, his expression closed off.

Phil made himself wait. It wasn't his place to offer physical comfort, much as he might like to fold Clint into his arms like he did Ava when she skinned her knee.

"It could've been me," Clint said eventually, his voice barely audible. "Any one of those kids, they could have been me."

Now Phil was the one struggling for words, wanting to find the right thing to say, _needing_ to find something that might help Clint. He sorted through and discarded several possibilities before simply saying, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Clint scrubbed his hand over his face and sat up. "I should go; you don't need to hear about this."

"Clint," Phil said, putting his hand on Clint's shoulder. Surely that much was safe. "You don't have to go. I've got time, if you want to talk. I'd be happy to listen."

"Not sure I want you to know how fucked up I am, sir," Clint muttered.

Phil took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He waited until he was sure Clint was looking at him and said, "You're not fucked up. You've been through a lot, yes, but that's not what people see. It's not what I see." 

When Clint shook his head, Phil said, "Listen to me, Clint. You know me. Have I ever lied to you?"

Clint snorted. "No, but--"

"You're one of the smartest students I've ever had," Phil said. He brought every bit of authority to his voice that he could muster, hoping Clint could hear it, could see it in his face. "You pick up new skills faster than anyone I've ever known, but you never show off. Your assessment skills are astounding. You see everything that's going on, not just with your own patients, but on the floor. You help your fellow students and the other nurses any time they need it, whether they ask you or not. You care deeply about your patients--I've seen it, and so do they, and they love you for it. Whatever happened to you when you were a kid, you've more than overcome it." He'd never consciously put it all together like that, not even on Clint's clinical evaluation. It hadn't felt safe to acknowledge just how much Phil admired him. 

"You really believe that," Clint said after a moment. He looked up at Phil with an astonished smile.

"I do," Phil answered, wishing Clint didn't look so surprised. "Because it's true, Clint. Every word of it."

Clint nodded slowly, his cheeks pink. "Okay," he said, blowing out a breath. "Okay, so there's this kid at the hospital. His name's Leroy, and his mother was an addict who beat him and his little sisters up. Then she died. Got shot by her dealer, right in front of her kids."

"Is that what happened to you?" Phil asked, watching Clint's face. He shouldn't have asked; it was none of his business.

Clint shook his head. "It was my dad," he said quietly. "My mom was…she tried to keep us safe. Me and Barney--that's my brother--we went into the system after my dad drove headfirst into a semi with my mom in the passenger seat. Barney wasn't perfect or anything, but he looked out for me. At least when I was little, anyway." 

"I'm sorry," Phil said, his heart breaking just a little. 

Clint shrugged. "It was a long time ago. This Leroy kid, though, it just happened to him a few months ago. He doesn't have a big brother looking out for him, and they placed his sisters with a different family. He hasn't seen them in weeks. He's alone, Phil. If and when he's better, they'll probably send him to a group home."

All Phil could think about was what might have happened to Henry and Ava if things had been different. "That's terrible," he said. 

"It's the way it works," Clint said.

"The way it works sucks," Phil said vehemently, and Clint's mouth lifted a little in the corner.

"Anyway, I feel for the kid, that's all," he said after a moment. "I know I shouldn't let it get to me."

"Given the situation, I think I'd be more worried about you if it didn't," Phil said. He paused, then decided he might as well continue. He'd already let Clint see more of his personal life than almost any other student, and if it might help, it was worth it. Clint wasn't even his student anymore, not technically. 

"You know, I used to work with AIDS patients, until my sister got sick." Phil could feel his shoulders tightening as he said it, wondering how Clint would react. Clint hadn't been there when he'd introduced himself to the class.

Clint looked at him steadily, waiting, just as Phil had waited.

"It was hard, working with patients who were dying, but I could handle it. Even though, like you, I knew any of them could have been me." 

Clint had to know what Phil was saying, but all he did was nod, his face open and accepting. 

"I liked knowing I was making a difference, and I was good at it, hard as it was…but once Ellie got sick, I couldn't do it anymore." Phil paused for a moment, a grimace on his face. He'd spent one miserable week working on the oncology floor before he'd admitted he couldn't hack it, and that had been when Ellie was still doing relatively well.

"Is that why you switched to cardiac?" Clint asked.

Phil nodded. "One of the great things about nursing is, you can always change specialties."

"I don't think I'm cut out to work with dying kids," Clint said.

"Maybe not," Phil said. "Maybe psych's not the right place for you, either. Or maybe you'll use your experience as fuel to work with kids just like Leroy. Wherever you end up, I'm confident you'll be an excellent nurse."

Clint snorted softly. "You sure have a lot of confidence in me. I don't know if I'll be able to live up to it."

"You will," Phil answered. His cell phone rang. "That's probably Darcy," he said apologetically.

"Yeah, I'll get out of your hair," Clint said. "Thanks."

"Any time," Phil said, reaching for his phone.

***

Clint came by the following week at the same time, asking if Phil could look over his final pediatric careplan before he turned it in. "I know it's not your specialty, sir," he said.

"It's not," Phil answered, frowning. "Have you talked to your instructor about it?" Some of the faculty would be more than glad for Phil to help, figuring it meant less work for them, but if Phil was right about who Clint had for clinical in pediatrics, it wouldn't be a good idea. 

Clint flushed and shook his head. "No. I'm sorry; I know that's who I'm supposed to go to for help now."

"For stuff like help with your careplans, or the specific content you're learning in class, yes," Phil said. "You've got Chrissy for clinical, right? I know she'd be happy to help." Chrissy was a decent instructor, and she cared about her students, but she was also territorial about them. She'd be pissed if Phil helped Clint with anything as specific as a careplan.

Clint nodded. "I understand," he said, his expression closed, his shoulders tight. "I'll get out of your way." Everything about his body language was setting off alarms for Phil. 

"Clint, wait," Phil said, holding up a hand. "Just because I can't help you with your homework doesn't mean you have to leave." It probably wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done, but damned if he wouldn't do just about anything to get that expression off Clint's face.

Clint stood in the doorway for a few seconds, then nodded and came inside, closing the door behind him.

"What's going on?" Phil asked, gesturing for Clint to sit down. "Is it that patient of yours, Leroy?"

"He's not my patient anymore," Clint said, and Phil's heart sank. "The nurse I was working with yesterday called me this morning to tell me he died." 

"I'm sorry," Phil said. 

Clint continued like he hadn't even heard Phil. Maybe he hadn't. "The careplan--I still have to turn it in on Monday. I asked if I could do something different, maybe do two careplans next week or something, but Leroy was my only patient this week and Chrissy said that's who I had to do it on. I had to write up all this NANDA _bullshit_ about a kid who's dead." Clint stared at him defiantly, no doubt expecting Phil to defend the validity of nursing diagnoses or careplans.

"I'm so sorry," Phil said, putting his hand on Clint's shoulder. "I know he meant a lot to you, Clint. I'm really sorry he didn't make it." _And I'm sorry Chrissy's being a jackass._

"Yeah, thanks," Clint said. He looked down. "It's not like he's the first. He's not even the first _kid_ I've seen die, not by a long shot. But…."

"But it's different when you've gotten to know someone," Phil said. 

"Yeah," Clint said. "I know I should just get used to it. That's what I used to tell the new EMTs. 'Don't let it affect you; just do your fucking job.'"

Phil left his hand on Clint's shoulder. "There are a lot of nurses out there who might say the same thing. I'm not one of them."

"Yeah?" Clint said, with a touch of bitterness. "What do you say?"

"I say that caring about patients hurts sometimes, but it's what makes us good nurses. There's a lot more to what we do than assessments and skills and, yes, careplans. This profession is an art, and art requires love. Love and pain both."

Clint was silent for a long moment, then asked, "You know what the worst part is?"

"What's that?" Phil responded.

"I _knew_ something was wrong. I tried to tell the nurse. I tried to tell Chrissy. I even thought about going to the charge nurse. But there wasn't…yeah, his pulse was up a little, and maybe he was breathing twenty-eight or thirty instead of twenty-four, but it wasn't anything concrete. I just…I had a feeling, a hunch. But I'm just the nursing student, what the fuck do I know?" he asked.

"That--" Phil started, biting back his anger. 

Clint cut him off. "I know it probably wouldn't have made any difference," he said, looking away. "His counts were in the fucking toilet, and Nancy said they didn't even have time to get him to the ICU before he crashed. A few hours of antibiotics weren't gonna save him; he was already so weak. But maybe…." He looked down.

"Maybe?" Phil prompted. He realized he was rubbing Clint's back and stopped. When he withdrew his hand, Clint made a small sound of protest, so he put it back.

"I don't know, maybe they could have gotten his sisters there. Maybe he could have seen them one more time, and they could've seen him." When Clint looked up, his eyes were red and moist.

Phil focused on his breathing, pushing down the urge to rail against the unfeeling bureaucracy of Child and Family Services, to confront Chrissy and the floor nurse for being idiots, or, worse yet, to pull Clint Barton into his arms and hold him there until he felt better. He was having that urge way too often.

"I'm sorry," he said again. It was completely inadequate, but at least it was professional. "I'm sorry the nurse didn't act on what you reported. I'm sorry Leroy didn't get to see his sisters." _I'm sorry you were in foster care. I'm sorry you were abused. I'm sorry you were alone. I'm sorry Chrissy doesn't see what an amazing nurse you already are._ "It sounds like you did everything you could."

"Wasn't enough," Clint muttered. 

"You did everything you could," Phil repeated. "It's not your fault, Clint. It sucks, I know, but it's not your fault."

Neither of them said anything else for a while. Clint eventually scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand and let out a deep sigh. Most of the tension left his body. Phil squeezed his shoulder once more, then dropped his hand.

"Thanks," Clint said quietly. "I should've known you'd…. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Phil answered. "Do you think you'll be able to get through the careplan all right?"

"Yeah," Clint said gruffly. "Ineffective Protection, Acute Pain, Altered Nutrition, Social Isolation--it's not like it's hard to come up with the diagnoses. None of the interventions worked for shit, though."

"I know it must seem like a waste of time," Phil said. "Maybe writing about it will help you process what happened, at least a little." 

"Maybe," Clint said, but Phil could tell he didn't believe it any more than Phil himself did. 

Clint glanced at his watch and stood up abruptly. "Shit. I'm sorry, sir--you're not gonna be late picking up your kids or anything, are you?"

"I'm sure Darcy's handling things just fine," Phil said, although when he saw what time it was he was surprised she hadn't called him. "Are you going to be okay? Is Natasha… I mean, does she know what happened?"

"She knows," Clint said. "Her idea of helping is to order more Thai food than we could ever eat. The last time she got so much we had to eat leftovers for days on end." He looked at Phil and added, "Thanks again, Phil. I really appreciate you taking the time with me. I know you don't have to."

"I don't mind at all," Phil said. "I'm glad I could help."

***  
Phil was in the hospital cafeteria a few days later, shoveling their sad version of chicken stir fry into his mouth and wondering when his beeper was going to go off. He wasn't really looking at anything, just thinking, when he heard someone say, "Do you mind if I sit here?"

"Natasha," he answered, pleased. "Have a seat. Are you here for clinical?"

She nodded. "Pre-conference is in an hour. I figured I'd grab something now; who knows how busy it'll be on the floor."

"How's it going?" he asked. "You've got Adrianna for clinical, right?" She'd asked Phil about Natasha and the other students from his clinical group at the beginning of the semester.

"That's right," Natasha said. "It's going fine, but I'm glad to be out of peds."

"Not your thing, huh?" Phil asked with a tiny smile. 

"Definitely not," she said. "Sticking kids with needles is the last thing I want to be doing."

"It can be tough," Phil said. "I couldn't do it either--I'm a basket case when my kids are sick."

"You've got two, right?" Natasha asked.

"Ava is eight, and Henry's twelve," Phil confirmed. 

Natasha was silent for a moment. "It's good that they have you," she said eventually. "How old were they when their mother died?"

"Three and seven," Phil said. 

"Does the younger one--Ava--does she remember her mom?" she asked quietly.

"Not really, no," Phil said. "Henry does, or at least he says he does…. It's hard to tell what he really remembers and what he's just heard about."

Natasha nodded slowly. "I was three when they took me," she said. "I don't remember my real parents at all. I wish I did."

"I'm sorry," Phil said. He wasn't sure what she meant by "when they took me," but he didn't want to push. 

"Thanks for what you did for Clint," Natasha said abruptly. "He was pretty fucked up by what happened, but talking to you helped."

"I was glad to do it," Phil answered honestly. 

Natasha nodded. "I hope you know what it means that he talks to you," she said. "Clint doesn't trust many people."

"I'd never do anything to betray that trust," Phil said.

"Good," Natasha said, picking up her sandwich and taking a bite. 

Phil figured the conversation was over and was about to get up from the table when Natasha said, "We're not together, you know."

"Excuse me?" Phil said, fighting to keep the surprise off his face.

"He's my best friend," she said. "He's family; I'd do anything for him. But Clint's not my type, and I'm not his."

Phil couldn't help wondering who, exactly, _was_ Clint's type, but all he said was, "I see." He cleared his throat and stood. "I've got to get going. It was nice to see you, Natasha."

"You too, Phil."

***  
Clint came by about once a week, usually arriving at the end of office hours and staying twenty minutes or so. He'd come prepared with a question about what he was studying, although Phil suspected it was just a pretext to come in and talk about other things. He found out that Clint had spent a few years traveling the country with a circus, shooting a bow and arrow, before he'd been pulled back into the foster care system. 

Clint told Phil about enlisting after he got his GED, only to be slotted into sniper training against his wishes; they'd only let him become a medic after he made it clear he'd refuse to take a shot at anyone. The explosion that had damaged his hearing happened when he was twenty-eight. Once he'd healed up, he'd taken the job with Chicago EMS. He was worried that Natasha would either be deployed or go back into active service once they'd graduated.

Something else had happened to him, something worse than the explosion, worse than losing his parents. Phil thought it had happened when Clint was a kid and had something to do with his brother. Clint would talk around it, but Phil never pushed. It wasn't any of his business. Clint was a student; Phil couldn't let himself think of him as anything else.

***  
Natasha showed up at his table in the cafeteria a few more times. Their conversations were similar to the ones they'd had when she was his student. She spoke about the obstacles she'd faced as a woman, an attractive woman at that, in the army and as a paramedic, and the different obstacles she was facing now. "Seems like whatever I do, someone's either hitting on me or accusing me of being a lesbian," she said. "Sometimes both at the same time."

Whenever she talked, Phil listened. She didn't seem to want or need anything else from him. 

Then, one day when he ran into her outside the hospital, she told him what she'd meant during that first conversation in the cafeteria. Her voice was clinical as she described the people who'd kidnapped her, who'd kept her for ten years, until she'd finally escaped. "I don't want your pity," she told him. "It happened, but it was a long time ago. I just thought you might want to know why I joined the army as soon as they'd let me. I wasn't ever going to let anyone do anything to me again."

Phil nodded. "Thank you for telling me," he said, giving her hand a quick squeeze. "I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me. If you ever want to talk about it, my door's always open."

"I just wanted you to know, that's all," Natasha said. 

"Okay," Phil said. He was grateful and a little overwhelmed to have earned her trust, which he sensed was even more rarely given than Clint's. 

"Okay," she echoed. "I'd better get inside if I want to eat before pre-conference. I'll see you later."

"Take care, Natasha," he said.

"You too, Phil."

***  
He got into work one Tuesday morning to find a message from Natasha, asking if she could meet with him during his office hours. He called her back right away, wondering what she wanted to talk about, if she were going to share more about her past. They set up an appointment for that afternoon. She was early, but one of Phil's clinical students was late, so it was about fifteen minutes past the appointed time when he waved her into his office.

"Sorry about that," he said, gesturing for her to sit. He took a moment to set aside the concerns he had about the previous student so that he could focus on Natasha.

"It's fine, sir," she said. "Thanks for squeezing me in. I know you do that for Clint, but I appreciate you doing it for me as well. This wasn't something I wanted to talk about in the hospital cafeteria."

"It's no problem, Natasha," Phil said. "You know that. What can I do for you?" 

"I have a decision to make," she said, her forehead wrinkling ever so slightly. "You know I'm in the Reserves."

Phil nodded.

"My active duty contract ended a few months after Clint got his medical discharge," she went on. "I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, but Clint was set on Chicago, so that's where we went."

Phil nodded again. "I'm sure he appreciated having you close."

"He needed me," Natasha said bluntly. "I'm lucky I didn't get deployed after 9/11. I started taking the pre-reqs for the nursing program when Clint did, and they granted me a deferral."

"But the deferral will be up after you graduate," Phil said, and this time Natasha was the one who nodded.

"Clint, he…he liked being in the Army, but I think he's been happier since he got out," Natasha said.

"Unlike you?"

Natasha nodded again. "I miss it. And they need people. They need nurses."

"So what's stopping you?" Phil asked. "Is it Clint?"

"He's the only family I have," she said. "If things were different, if he could, I know he'd go with me. I don't want to leave him behind. If he could…."

"If he could?" Phil prompted.

"He'd be doing it for me, not for himself," she said, shaking her head. "It's not the life he wants. He deserves to be happy. To have a home, people who care about him." Natasha looked at Phil when she said it. 

"He wants you to be happy, too," Phil said. "He'll worry about you if you deploy--hell, _I'll_ worry about you--but if it's what you really want, he'll understand."

"He'll say he understands, sure," Natasha said, grimacing. "But I'll be one more in the long string of people who've left him."

"Is that really what you'd be doing?" Phil said, sitting back in his chair. "Do you plan on never seeing or talking to him again?"

"No, of course not," Natasha said. "Like I said, he's family."

"Don't you think he knows that?" Phil asked. "Do you really think Clint would take your temporarily being out of the country to do something you love as abandonment?"

"I could get killed over there," Natasha responded.

"Yes, you could," Phil acknowledged. "But I know, and I'm confident Clint does too, that you'll do everything you can not only to bring injured soldiers home safely, but yourself as well."

Natasha met his eyes, but she didn't say anything for several seconds. "If something happens to me…" she said eventually.

"I'll do what I can," Phil promised, both of them carefully avoiding specifics.

***  
The next time Clint came by to see him, he told Phil that Natasha had declined an extension on her deferment. "They'll probably deploy her right after graduation," he said. He squared his shoulders. "It's what she wants. She's Army, through and through."

Phil nodded, a hand on Clint's shoulder. "I know how much the two of you care about each other. I'll tell you what I told her--she'll do everything she can to get home safely."

"Yeah," Clint said, leaning just a bit closer. "I know."

***  
At the end of the semester, Clint brought another plastic container full of scones, orange-cranberry this time. "You didn't have to do this," Phil said as he took the lid off and inhaled. 

"It's no problem," Clint said, watching with a smile while Phil bit into the scone. "I figured I owe you something for all those times I kept you here past your office hours."

"If you ever get tired of health care, you could always open a bakery," Phil said. "These are delicious, Clint. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Clint said, his smile widening. "I, uh, I guess I'll see you in the fall, huh?"

"I'll see you then," Phil confirmed. "Have a good summer."

"You too, sir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitions for Ch. 2:  
>  **counts** "His counts were in the fucking toilet." Refers to the CBC (complete blood count). Chemotherapy suppresses the bone marrow and all rapidly dividing cells, which lowers the count of all blood cells. This puts the patient in severe danger of infection and bleeding and decreases their ability to oxygenate their tissues.  
>  **nursing diagnoses** Problems that the nurse identifies from assessment data. They have three parts: the NANDA (North American Nursing Diagnosis Association) stem (e.g. Acute Pain, Ineffective Protection, Altered Nutrition: Less Than Body Requirements; these stems are determined, written, and revised by NANDA yearly), the etiology (what causes the problem--not a medical diagnosis), and the support data (the evidence from the assessment and diagnostic tests that supports the diagnosis/stem). Leroy's priority nursing diagnosis would be something like: Ineffective Protection related to depressed immune response secondary to chemotherapy, as evidenced by critically low white blood count.  
>  **PALS:** Pediatric advanced life support. People (usually including paramedics, as well as nurses who specialize in pediatric nursing, plus physicians) who are PALS certified go through additional training beyond basic life support/CPR. The other related certifications are ACLS (advanced cardiac life support--running codes, defibrillating, intubating, etc.; designed for the adult population) and NRP (neonatal resuscitation program, for newborn infants who need resuscitation)  
>  **peds-onc** : Pediatric oncology, or children's cancers
> 
> Warning: this chapter and other chapters mention and/or hint at child abuse and sexual abuse, all in the past.


	3. Planning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta thanks again to Lyrstzha, Ainsley, Dine, and Shaenie. See the notes at the bottom for definitions, as usual, and let me know if there's anything I haven't defined that you'd like to know more about.
> 
> The last time I was in Chicago was more than 10 years ago, and I've never lived there, so I'm relying a lot on the internet for research. Please feel free to let me know if I'm getting something wrong, especially since I've never visited any of the City Colleges of Chicago campuses (for the record, Phil's campus is Malcolm X College on the west side) or Mt. Sinai Hospital. It drives me crazy that I don't know which floor is which specialty there, because I'm obsessive like that, so if you have inside knowledge, hit me with it.
> 
> It seems pretty definite at this point that there will be six chapters, so I've gone ahead and indicated that in the chapter count. Chapter 4 is underway, but it'll probably be a while before it's ready to be posted. I also have plans for a sequel once this is finished.

Phil only worked prn over the summer. Ava and Henry were out of school, and he wanted to have time with them; they were growing up fast. He took them up to the cabin for a few weeks, put both of them into a series of expensive, specialized summer camps, got his annual TB test, and renewed all of his certifications. He had time to spare to visit the Art Institute, read a few novels, and catch up on his favorite comics. 

He kept busy. He enjoyed his kids, he tried to remember to put sunscreen all the way up to his ever-receding hairline when he went to the beach, and he thought about Clint Barton, despite his resolve not to.

He missed seeing him in the hallways, the way he'd smile and wave if he caught a glimpse of Phil. More than that, he missed talking to Clint. Phil had known he was attracted to Clint, but he hadn't realized how much he genuinely _liked_ the man. 

Okay, that was a lie. He absolutely knew how much he liked Clint (very much). At least there were no rules against liking a student, even if it wasn't strictly appropriate.

Halfway through the summer he did his weekly check of his school account and found an email from Clint.

_Phil,_

_Are you around at all? I know you're probably not even checking emails, but I could use your advice on something._

_Hope your summer's going well, anyway. Nat says hi._

_Clint_

Phil stared at his computer screen for a moment, then typed a response and sent it before he could change his mind.

_Clint,_

_I'd be happy to help. What's going on?_

_Phil_

He got a response ten minutes later.

_Are you going to be on campus any time soon? I'd rather talk to you than email._

If it had been any other student, Phil would have called him, but he knew Clint's hearing aids made him uncomfortable talking on the phone. He told himself he should do some prep for the fall and arranged a time to meet Clint when the kids were both in camp.

He drove to campus after dropping the kids off, stopping to pick up some coffee at Nightcap. He looked at their selection of pastries and wondered if Clint would be bringing more scones. He wished he could buy Clint a coffee.

Parking was easy--enrollment was much smaller over the summer. Phil had thought of little else besides seeing Clint again on the way to campus, and as he jogged up the stairs to his office, he wondered if he'd be able to get anything done. But once he sat down and turned his computer on, he was soon engrossed in research on the content he'd be teaching in the fall. The text books were out of date by the time they were actually published, so he always spent some time finding up to date information to supplement them with.

There were more than a dozen tabs open on his browser when Clint knocked at the door and stuck his head in an hour later. "Is this an okay time?" he asked.

"Of course," Phil said, completely incapable of keeping the smile off his face. "Come on in. How's your summer going?" Clint was in cargo shorts and the purple t-shirt Phil knew was one of his favorites. He looked great.

"It's okay, I guess," Clint said, sliding into a chair effortlessly, his eyes on Phil. "You must be having a good one."

"What do you mean?" Phil asked.

Clint gestured at Phil. "I've never seen you without a tie before, sir. You look very, uh, relaxed."

Phil didn't blush. Barely. "I'm taking the kids to the beach this afternoon," he explained. "You're lucky I'm not wearing a t-shirt." Clint didn't need to know he'd picked the blue-grey polo shirt that Darcy had once said brought out his eyes. 

"I didn't say I didn't like it," Clint said, laughing. "The casual look suits you, and I wouldn't mind seeing what kind of t-shirts you own. I’m just not sure Nat's gonna believe me when I tell her."

"Careful, there--if you spread the word around, I might lose my rep," Phil said. "I can't let any other students know about my collection of superhero t-shirts." _Oh God, I can't believe I just said that._ Now he really was blushing.

"Your secret's safe with me," Clint promised, crossing his heart. "Oh, hey, I almost forgot," he added, handing over a paper bag.

"What's this?" Phil asked, peering at the plastic container inside. Scones again. These smelled like cheese and bacon and made Phil's mouth water in anticipation. "Clint, you don't have to keep bringing me baked goods," he protested half-heartedly. "No bribes are necessary, I promise."

Clint shrugged. "Nat's been working full time as a medic, with the Reserves every weekend, and taking a couple of classes. She's pretty stressed out. So I made her some this morning and figured I'd bring along a few for you. It's no big deal."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to turn them down," Phil said, giving in to temptation and taking one out of the bag. It was as delicious as the other varieties had been. "What can I do for you?" he asked once his mouth was no longer full.

"I'm taking Pharm 104 and stats this summer," Clint said. 

Phil waited a second, but when Clint didn't say anything else, he said, "How's that going?"

"Stats is a lot easier than I thought it would be," Clint said. "And I'm doing all right in pharm, but…." He looked away, his shoulders tense.

"But?" Phil asked after a moment. 

Clint blew out a breath and looked at him. "I've looked online some, but I was wondering what you could tell me about the school's policy on sexual harassment. I mean, with faculty."

Phil firmly told himself not to panic. "The college takes sexual harassment very seriously, whoever is involved. Faculty are in a position of power over students, even students who aren't in their classes. It's imperative that they maintain a professional relationship as long as there's any potential for abuse." 

Clint nodded, but he was frowning. "I'm guessing that means more than just asking a student out. Flirting, touching, that kind of thing, too, right?"

"Yes," Phil said. Then, because he believed in facing his fears (at least most of the time), he took a deep breath and added, "Clint, I hope I haven't done anything to make you uncomfortable."

Clint rocked back in his chair. "You? No, Jesus, you've never--shit, if it was _you…."_ He stopped and searched Phil's face. Phil tried to keep his expression bland, but he knew he had failed when Clint's eyes widened slightly. 

"If it was you, things would be different," Clint said, looking at him with what Phil was almost certain was hope. "Just so you know."

Phil took another deep breath and let it out. He could think about that later. "The administrative rules are quite clear. There can be no personal relationship between a professor and a student while the student is enrolled, or even after if the professor is acting as an academic or employment reference. Any act or statement that would violate the emotional, physical, or sexual safety of a student is grounds for suspension or dismissal." 

He was relieved that he sounded in control. Professional, maybe a bit angry. Anger was acceptable; he would have been pissed no matter who came to him like this. 

It was also a good reminder of how careful he needed to be, no matter how Clint might feel. Which he would think about later.

Clint nodded. "Yeah, I got that part. What I'm unclear on is what happens if a student reports a professor. How does that work?"

"The report goes to the department chair and the dean first, then up the chain as needed," Phil said, thankful that he'd recently taken the online refresher course on college policies that was required every year. "It can be anonymous, but it's easier for the administration to proceed if the student's willing to come forward. The student can bring an advocate with them to any meetings--a parent, a lawyer, a counselor, that sort of thing."

"Another faculty member?" Clint asked, his expression a little brighter.

"I suppose that's possible, but only if the two faculty members were from completely different departments and had no connection to each other," Phil answered, reminding himself once again to keep things professional.

"That wouldn't work, then," Clint muttered, looking down.

Phil took that in. "Clint, you don't have to tell me anything, but I'm guessing you didn't come here just to talk about procedures."

"You're right about that," Clint said. 

"What happened?"

"I waited until the last minute to register for summer session," Clint said. "The only pharm section that was still open was over at Truman, but there was a stats section there, too, so I figured it was no big deal. The guy, the instructor, he seemed kind of cool at first. He had a way of talking that kept you interested, I guess."

Clint glanced over at Phil; he nodded for Clint to continue.

"He gave us all cards to fill out the first day, said he wanted to know about our backgrounds. One of the questions he asked was who our favorite teacher was, and why. I didn't think anything of it, you know? I said you were my favorite teacher, because you pushed me to be better at the same time as you supported me and helped me to reach the goals you set."

Phil tried to ignore the warm feeling Clint's praise gave him.

"Next class, he sought me out. He asked me how I was finding the class so far, put his hand on my shoulder, that kind of thing. It was a little weird, especially given the size of the class, but I shrugged it off. Next class, same thing, with more flattery and more touching. And he asked about you, too. He said he used to teach in the nursing program, but he needed more time for his research, so now he just did adjunct work."

"Shit," Phil said, grimacing as he put it together. "It's Loki Laufeyson, isn't it? He's teaching pharmacology now?"

"Got it in one," Clint said. "What the fuck is up with him, anyway?"

"I can't.... It would be unprofessional for me to comment on another faculty member," Phil said, trying, mostly successfully, to keep the disgust out of his voice. "Suffice it to say we have a history."

"Please tell me you never dated him," Clint said, looking pale.

"Never," Phil said, shaking his head vigorously. "We've had what you could call professional disagreements."

"Thank God," Clint muttered. "That guy is nuts, Phil. Seriously, he scares me a little."

"What did he do?" Phil asked. He'd been a little angry before, but now he was _really_ pissed off. "Talk to me, Clint."

"He hasn't _done_ much, is the thing," Clint said, frowning deeply. "Yeah, he touches me more than I would like, and he's made comments about you, but it's not like he's asked me out or anything."

"What sort of comments?" Phil asked.

"He talks about how you're 'such a dedicated educator' and makes it sound like an insult. He talks about your being gay, about how _lonely_ you must be, how you don't have anything in your life but your job and your kids."

"He mentioned my kids?" Phil said, feeling nauseated. It was bad enough Loki was outing him, but bringing Ava and Henry into it was completely unacceptable.

"Just once," Clint said. "I told him I didn't think they were any of his or my business, and he didn't bring them up again."

"That's…I might take that up with the dean myself," Phil said. He couldn't believe the college had hired Loki back as an adjunct in the first place after what had happened with Tony. The chair of the pharmacology department must be an idiot.

Clint nodded. "But as far as his behavior towards me, there's nothing obvious. It's more…. He was talking about scopolamine, you know, twilight sleep, the other day, and how great it was that the women they gave it to didn't remember anything about the pain they felt. Like, that it gave them some sort of freedom, and that's what conscious sedation does, too. Versed is a great drug because it grants the patient _freedom._ That was the word he used. It was fucking creepy, sir."

"That's an apt description, I think," Phil said, suppressing a shudder. "Just that he touches you in a way that makes you uncomfortable is more than enough grounds for a complaint, but I think the dean would want to know about the disturbing content in his lectures as well. That is, if you're willing to make a complaint, anonymous or not."

Even if Clint didn't come forward, Phil had a feeling all it would take would be a conversation with Tony. The school had benefited enormously from the Stark Foundation over the years, especially after Tony's hospitalization. He was reluctant to use his connection to Tony for anything, but this was important enough that he would if he had to.

"I'm willing," Clint said. "I just hope it won't affect my grade."

"What's your grade so far?" Phil asked.

"I got an A on the midterm," Clint answered. "It was a lot easier than I was expecting, given it's a higher level course than regular pharmacology."

 _Typical,_ Phil thought. Easy tests were less work to grade, and he'd heard enough from his colleagues to know that Loki's laziness as an instructor hadn't just been in clinical. "The administration won't let him get away with changing your grade because of a justified complaint." _Neither will I._

"Okay," Clint said, accepting. "So what do I do next?"

Phil printed the complaint form for Clint, gave him the email and phone number of the pharmacology department chair and dean, and arranged for him to meet with one of the counselors. "I'm afraid I can't get any more involved than that," he said afterwards. "It could be seen as a conflict of interest."

"I understand," Clint said. "I'll keep you out of it as much as I can. I don't want to stir anything up."

Phil wondered which potential conflict of interest Clint was thinking of: the animosity between Loki and Phil, or the potential for a relationship between him and Clint. He got an answer of sorts when Clint sat back in his chair and said, "I was going to ask you for a reference--I'm gonna start applying for jobs soon--but I think I'll ask some of my other professors instead."

"All right," Phil said, his throat dry. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"I…I'll let you know how things go," Clint said. "You know, with the dean."

"I'd appreciate that," Phil said. 

"Okay," Clint said. "I'll see you in August."

"See you then."

***  
The call from the dean a week later wasn't unexpected. Having to meet with her, department chairs from both pharmacology and nursing, and Loki himself was, but Phil got through it. At least Clint wasn't there. 

Loki was just as Phil remembered: oily, arrogant, and manipulative. Fortunately, by this point HR had a folder on him thicker than some textbooks. Clint wasn't the only student to ever lodge a complaint, although he was the first to do so publicly. Beyond that, everyone knew how Tony Stark felt about Loki. By the end of the meeting, there was an additional note in the file indicating that Loki Laufeyson was no longer eligible to work at City Colleges of Chicago in any role whatsoever.

Laufeyson left with a sweep of his arm and grandiose threats that sounded more appropriate for a comic book than real life. Phil thought, _Good riddance._ He hoped the dean would follow through on her promise to make an official report to the state board.

When he got back to his office, Clint was sitting outside, a familiar plastic container at his feet.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you," Phil said, unlocking his door, "although I am curious how you found out about today's meeting."

"There was a meeting?" Clint asked, grinning. "You don't say."

"I don't, actually," Phil said as he sat down. "I can't."

"It's okay," Clint said. "I was on campus and thought you might like to try my newest recipe, that's all."

"What delicious combination of ingredients have you come up with this time?" Phil asked, opening the container and taking an appreciative sniff.

"Dark chocolate and raspberry," Clint said. "Nat said they're her favorite kind so far. I had to hide these so I'd have some left for you."

"Thank you," Phil said, wishing he hadn't eaten breakfast that morning. He'd have to do some hiding of his own; if Darcy caught wind of homemade raspberry-chocolate scones, there would be none left for him. He'd eat one now, and one after lunch, he decided. 

"Well, I'd better get going," Clint said. "I've got some stats homework to finish up."

"Clint," Phil said, putting a hand on his arm to stop him. His fingers rested on Clint's bare skin for a second before he dropped his hand.

"Yeah?" Clint asked. The huskiness in his voice made things flip-flop in Phil's chest.

"I can't tell you much, but you were far from the only student who ever complained," Phil said, wishing he could feel the warmth of Clint's skin again. "The fact that you came forward--it made a difference."

Clint nodded slowly. "Thanks," he said. "Phil…."

"What is it?"

"I, uh, I should probably keep my distance fall semester. I think that would be best," Clint said, looking into his eyes. "It'll make things easier."

"Right," Phil said, sitting back in his chair, his heart sinking. "That's probably a good idea."

"I'll be graduating in five months," Clint said. "My last final is on December 15th; I checked. Pinning is the 18th. I hope you'll be there. I…I really want you to be there, okay?"

 _Oh._ The flip-flopping was back, stronger than ever. "I wouldn't miss it," Phil said.

Clint smiled at him, open and happy. "Good. Great. Thanks, Phil."

"You're welcome," Phil said, smiling back at him. 

***  
The rest of the summer passed quickly, and before he knew it the fall semester was well underway. He kept busy, chairing a committee for the first time, volunteering to sit in for interviews, even attending a couple of conferences. When he saw Clint in the hallway, their eyes would meet, Clint would give him a half-smile, and Phil's stomach would flip-flop again. 

Natasha and Clint surprised him by showing up during office hours the Monday after Thanksgiving. "Do you have a minute, Phil?" Natasha asked. 

"Of course; come in," Phil said. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Natasha said, sitting down with her usual grace. Clint sat in the other chair, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack.

"What can I do for you?" Phil asked.

"You're going to be at pinning, right?" Clint asked, his eyes on the floor. 

Phil waited until he looked up and said, "Of course. I wouldn't miss it."

"You know neither Clint nor I have any family left," Natasha said. Now that he was looking for it, Phil could see a faint tightness in her features. He realized what she was going to say half a second before she opened her mouth again. "We were thinking--"

"We were hoping," Clint interrupted, frowning at her.

"We were _hoping,"_ she continued, glancing at him, "that you would be willing to pin us."

It wasn't unprecedented for a faculty member to pin a graduating student, but it was rare--Phil had only seen it happen once or twice in the years he'd been at City Colleges. He'd never been asked before. He supposed it might make things a bit more awkward with his co-workers if he and Clint started a personal relationship after graduation, but he didn't hesitate for a moment. "I'd be honored," he said quietly, looking them each in the eye briefly. 

"That's…that's great, Phil," Clint said. "Thank you."

"We really appreciate it," Natasha said. "If you hadn't agreed, we'd be stuck pinning each other, and that's just weird."

All three of them smiled at that. It was comfortable. Somehow, over the past year, Phil had grown comfortable with both of these soon-to-be former students. In another life, he could imagine himself working closely with them, the three of them on some sort of team. It didn't seem to matter that he'd spent more time with Clint, that he was attracted to Clint--the three of them, Natasha most definitely included, fit together. 

"Well, we couldn't have it be weird," he said after a moment, his smile broadening. 

"December 18th," Clint said. 

Phil had noted the location and time on his calendar months ago, but he nodded anyway. "I'll be there," he promised.

***  
He nearly had to break his promise. Ava was sick, Darcy was running late, and it was snowing hard enough that the plows were having a difficult time keeping up; it felt like the fates were conspiring against him to keep him from ever getting to campus. He pushed through the doors, pulling his hat off and running his fingers through his hair, a mere five minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to start; he barely had time to run up to his office to drop off his things. He apologized to his boss and the dean, but it turned out half the students were late as well.

Twenty minutes later, they made the procession into the auditorium. Phil sat with the faculty during the opening speeches, then moved to the side of the stage with the other people who were pinning students--mostly parents and spouses, as far as he could tell; he was certainly the only college employee. 

The names were called in alphabetical order, so Clint was up on stage quickly. Phil met him at the center, willing his hands not to shake as he stuck the school's pin through Clint's lapel. "Congratulations, Clint," he said, his voice a tiny bit hoarse. "You did it." 

"Thanks," Clint said, meeting his eye, and pulled him into a warm embrace, one Phil returned with a wholehearted joy he hoped no one noticed. "Thank you for everything," Clint murmured into Phil's ear, and then he was walking away. Phil could still feel the strength of his arms, the huff of Clint's breath against his ear, and the next student's mother had to nudge him out of the way before he got a grip on himself. 

Natasha was easier, but he still had to swallow around the lump in his throat before he could congratulate her. He welcomed her arms around him nearly as much as he had Clint's.

The lobby was full of graduates, family members, and faculty after the ceremony, but Phil quickly spotted Clint and Natasha, who were peering through the crowd looking for him. Clint waved as they made their way towards each other. 

Clint roped one of his classmates into taking a picture of the three of them: Phil in the middle, one arm around Clint, the other around Natasha. Then he and Clint posed for Natasha. When Clint put his hand on Phil's hip, his breath hitched in his chest.

 _Soon,_ he thought, hoping he wasn't deluding himself.

"I've got something for you up in my office," he said after Clint insisted on a picture of Phil and Natasha. "Do you have a few minutes?"

"Sure," Clint said easily. 

Natasha looked like she was about to leave until Phil said, "You too, Ms. Romanoff."

"After you, Professor Coulson," she answered with a tiny smirk. Clint snorted, and Phil couldn't have stopped smiling if his life depended on it. It was a good thing no one was around to see.

He let them in after unlocking the door, and they sat in their accustomed seats. He realized with a pang that this was the last time he'd have them in his office like this, sitting there, looking at him expectantly. 

He cleared his throat and opened his briefcase, taking out the container he'd prepared that morning. "Here," he said, handing it to Clint. "It's for both of you, so don't eat it all yourself."

Clint opened the lid and laughed out loud. "Scones," he said, grinning at Natasha. "He's giving us _scones."_

"I can see that," Natasha said, taking the one Clint had picked up out of his hand and taking a delicate bite. 

Clint scowled at her, but he'd already grabbed another. "What am I smelling here, Phil?" he asked before stuffing half of it into his mouth. 

"Pineapple and coconut," Phil answered. 

"In a scone?" Clint asked, crumbs spilling out of his mouth. Phil found it much more endearing than he should have. "Don't get me wrong, these are great, but what kind of a flavor combination is that for a scone?"

"Hey, do you know how hard it was to come up with something you hadn't already perfected?" Phil said, laughing. "Besides, my mother makes a great pineapple-coconut upside-down cake. I just adapted the recipe."

"Don't eat all of them," Natasha scolded, as Clint reached for a second scone. "Save some for the road."

"The road?" Phil asked, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. "Are you two going somewhere?"

"Nat's got to report next week," Clint said, looking Phil in the eye. "I'm driving her down to Texas. I'll be back after Christmas."

"Oh," Phil said. "Good. I mean, it's nice that you're driving her."

Natasha looked between the two of them with an amused expression. "Like I'm going to let you drive," she said. "I value my life too much for that."

"My car," Clint said. "You don't want me to drive, you can take the bus." It was clearly an old argument.

"When are you leaving?" Phil asked.

"Tomorrow," Clint answered.

 _"Early_ tomorrow," Natasha amended. "The scones will make a great breakfast."

"The scones will be a snack," Clint corrected her. "We're stopping at Bob Evans for breakfast. Do you know they don't even _have_ Bob Evans in Texas?" The question was directed at Phil, who laughed and shook his head.

"What's this?" Natasha asked, looking at the envelope he'd stuck in with the scones.

"My address and phone number," Phil answered, flushing. Now that he no longer had to keep his emotions in check, he felt a bit like a kid with his first crush. "I thought you might want to keep in touch."

"You're giving us your _cell phone_ number?" Clint asked, eyes widening comically. "I thought you kept that number locked in a vault somewhere!"

"Yes, well, you're not my students anymore," Phil said, his face feeling even warmer than it had a minute ago. "I think I can trust you not to call me at midnight to ask me about your careplan."

Clint shuddered theatrically. "Never again," he said. "I will never write a careplan again."

"Until you get your BSN, anyway," Natasha said, elbowing him in the side.

"There's got to be a way to do that without resorting to _nursing diagnoses,"_ Clint said. 

Phil laughed again. "I hope you'll let me know that you've arrived safely in Texas, at least," he said.

"Count on it," Clint said. 

"I'm going to head out," Natasha said. Clint got up from his chair.

Phil stood and hugged Natasha again. "Be safe," he said. "And be happy."

"You too," she answered, kissing his cheek. "Clint, I'll see you at home." She pulled the door shut behind her as she left.

Clint and Phil looked at each other for a moment. 

"So," Clint said. "I'll be back on the 27th."

"I leave for California on the 30th," Phil said. "And I'm working on the 28th."

Clint nodded. "What shift?"

"Days," Phil answered. "They'll have me charging, so I can't count on getting out on time."

"Five o'clock work for you?" Clint asked, pulling at his cuffs. "We could meet for coffee, maybe at Nightcap? I know you like their house brew."

"Clint," Phil said. 

Clint went still. "Did I misread things?"

"No," Phil said, reaching out and taking Clint's hand. Clint immediately relaxed. "I just… I want to make sure… I need to know where you're coming from," he fumbled. "I'd feel more comfortable if you--"

"I want to go out with you," Clint said quickly, squeezing Phil's hand. "I like you--I like you a lot--and I'm attracted to you. I want to date you. I want to take you on a date on December 28th, and hopefully again after you get back from California. Is that what you needed to hear? Because I could go on, if you want."

Phil smiled. "That won't be necessary. I'd be very happy to go out on a date with you. Can we make it 5:30, just to be safe? I'd like to have time to go home and change."

"Sure," Clint said, a soft smile on his face. "Five-thirty is great. Maybe we can get some dinner."

"That sounds great," Phil said, his smile widening. "I'll see you then."

"Yeah. I'd better get going," Clint said. Despite his words, he stayed where he was, holding Phil's hand. 

Phil continued to smile at him, running his thumb gently over Clint's knuckles, until he heard someone talking in the hallway outside. It sounded like Lorraine. If she saw his light on, she'd probably stick her head in the door to wish him a Merry Christmas.

Phil gave Clint's hand one last squeeze and dropped it. "I'll see you on the 28th," he said, pulling Clint into a tight hug.

"I'll be there," Clint said, his words muffled in Phil's shoulder.

"Safe travels," Phil said. "Have a good Christmas." He pulled back. 

"You too," Clint answered, giving him another smile. "I'll see you in a couple of weeks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **conscious sedation** a method of anesthesia in which the patient remains conscious (although they may fall asleep). The drugs used will relieve anxiety, provide analgesia (pain relief), and often work as amnesiacs, so the patient doesn't remember the procedure. Often used for minor surgical procedures; requires a trained provider (e.g. a specially trained RN) but not necessarily an anesthesiologist or anesthetist.  
>  **pinning** the traditional ceremony where the student receives an official pin from the nursing school they attended; it's considered more meaningful than commencement and has replaced the capping ceremony at most nursing schools  
>  **twilight sleep** a form of conscious sedation, using scopolamine and morphine, formerly used in childbirth to produce amnesic effects. Mothers who were given twilight sleep would have no recollection of labor or the birth of their children, which was disorienting and emotionally upsetting; babies were also born with respiratory depression from the drugs.  
>  **Versed** is a benzodiazepine (a sedative-hypnotic in the same class as Valium) which is commonly used in conscious sedation.


	4. Critical Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When last we saw them, Phil and Clint were _finally_ going to go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long to finish. Beta thanks to Dine, Ainsley, Lyrstzha, and Hederahelix!
> 
> Please note new warnings; check the notes below for more info.

Even though the roads were a mess on the way home, Phil couldn't stop smiling. He went by the bakery and picked up a pie to celebrate. 

When Darcy and the kids came to the door to greet him with hugs and demands to watch a DVD, Phil grinned. Ava looked better than she had that morning, and he knew she was tired of being stuck at home. "Forget DVDs," he said. "We're going to a movie." 

"Eragon?" Ava asked eagerly. Henry played at disinterest, but Phil could see his expression brighten before he shut it down again. 

Phil wasn't looking forward to adolescence, so he told himself they weren't there yet. Ava went upstairs to change, and Phil went into his room to do the same.

He came out a few minutes later wearing his favorite sweater, the one Ellie had bought him for Christmas the year before she died. Darcy had already had a sweater on, but she'd wrapped a long, bulky scarf around her neck and chest and a brightly colored hat. Phil sometimes wondered why she used clothing as a defense mechanism, but he'd never asked, despite the years they'd known each other. He hoped she knew she could talk to him if she wanted to; as far as he was concerned, she was family.

"What gives, boss?" she asked, peering at him over her glasses. "You're way too happy today."

Phil thought briefly about attempting to maintain his dignity, but decided it wasn't worth the bother. "I have a date," he answered, a bit smug.

"A date?" Darcy said. "It's about time! Who's the lucky guy?"

"You met him, actually," Phil said, blaming his flushed cheeks on his sweater. "Clint Barton. He was one of my students a couple semesters ago. He graduated today." 

"You're going out with that hottie I met in your office?" Darcy said, delighted. She jabbed at his arm, dancing back when he reached for her hat. "Shit, boss, that's great!" She put her hand to her mouth, then looked around guiltily to make sure the kids hadn't overheard.

"When's the date?" she whispered. "I hope it's not while I'm at my mom's. I'm gonna need all the details when you get home."

"It's the 28th," Phil said. The kids came down the stairs, clamoring to get going. It saved Phil from the interrogation he knew Darcy would give him later. 

***  
Clint texted Phil at least once a day, sometimes more. It started the morning he and Natasha left, when he texted from Bob Evans: _Please tell me they have pork sausage in Texas._ He texted again that evening from the motel, where their room apparently smelled of mildew. _Greetings from Bumfuck, TN,_ arrived the following afternoon. 

Phil was never sure how to respond, but he never let one of Clint's texts go unanswered, even if it was just _Glad you're okay. Say hi to Natasha._

Clint had always texted Phil's pager at clinical, emailed him, or stopped by his office. Phil knew he was self-conscious about his hearing impairment and never expected anything other than texts or emails while Clint was gone. He was surprised and touched when his phone rang on Christmas day and the caller ID showed Clint's number. 

Phil escaped to the bedroom so Clint would be able to hear him better. The privacy was a bonus; he wasn't close to ready to tell his mother about Clint. Not that there was much to tell…yet.

He spoke with Natasha first. She was calm and matter-of-fact, but he could hear the fondness in her voice when she told him Clint had made her favorite scones that morning. It sounded like the two of them were enjoying themselves, but Clint eventually confessed he was having a difficult time with the fact that he'd be leaving that afternoon.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you, though," he added, his voice warm.

"So am I," Phil said, smiling. "I keep meaning to ask you about your plans--have you got a job lined up yet?"

"I've applied a few places, but I don't expect to hear anything until after the new year," Clint answered. 

Phil heard Natasha calling for Clint in the background, so he said goodbye. He walked downstairs with another dopey smile on his face.

"It's nice to see you so happy," his mother said when she saw him. He was relieved when she didn't follow that up with any questions.

Two nights later, Phil got another text. _Made it home. See you tomorrow._

 _Looking forward to it,_ Phil responded, staring at his phone until the screen dimmed.

***  
He really should have known something like this would happen. He'd been at work since 6:30, and it had been busy all day, but the shit had really hit the fan that afternoon. It was 2:45, fifteen minutes before evening shift, forty-five minutes until he was supposed to clock out. Three nurses had called in sick (including the evening shift charge), and they'd had a code, three transfers to ICU, and twelve admissions. There were two more patients stuck in the ED, waiting for a bed.

 _Have to stay until 7,_ he texted Clint. _Can you wait?_

The response came in seconds. _No prob. LMK when your on your way._

Inside, where no one could see, Phil sighed in relief. He really didn't want to wait until he got back from California to see Clint. _Thanks for understanding. Hope scrubs are okay,_ he replied.

One of the orientees grabbed him before he could see if Clint responded. When he finally got a chance to check his phone again, it was nearly six o'clock.

Clint had texted him at 2:47. _Dont care what u wear. Worth waiting for._

_So are you,_ Phil thought. His stomach was flip-flopping again, worse than ever.

Janet stuck her head through the doorway. "Why the hell are you smiling, Phil? This has got to be the worst shift I've worked in months, and I'm not the one who had plans for tonight."

"How did you know I had plans?"

Janet snorted. "Please. I've worked with you for years."

Phil gave her a look, and she folded immediately.

"Darcy called earlier," she admitted. "She made me promise to get you out of here on time. When you didn't come home, she called again. She didn't tell me _what_ your plans were, but from the smile on your face when you saw that text, I'm guessing Phil Coulson actually has a _date."_

Phil shook his head, feeling the corner of his mouth moving up again. "I can neither confirm nor deny your hypothesis. I would, however, like to get out of here as soon as possible."

It was 6:30 when he texted Clint again. _Should be there by 1930._

_No worries. Ran into friend. See u when u get here._

Phil suppressed an entirely irrational twinge of jealousy and focused on finishing his shift report.

At 7:10 he triumphantly typed _On my way_ on his phone, but he didn't get a response. He checked his phone every few minutes as he walked from the hospital to the coffee shop, but there was nothing. He told himself firmly that it didn't mean anything.

When he walked through the door and looked around, though, there was no sign of Clint. He stood there for a moment, unsure what to do next. Should he text Clint again? Maybe he was just in the bathroom. 

Maybe he'd reconsidered and left. Phil didn't think Clint would do something like that, but he couldn't help worrying.

He was still standing there, frowning at his phone, when Peter Parker, a young man in his last clinical group, waved and came up to him.

"Are you here to meet Clint?" Peter asked. "You're who he was waiting for, right?" He looked a little like he had the first time Phil had made him take three patients; Phil had an urge to pat him on the back and tell him to buck up.

Phil wasn't sure how to respond to what Peter had asked. He reminded himself that Clint was no longer a student, hadn't really been his student for over a year, and nodded. "Do you know where he is?"

"No," Peter answered, frowning. "I went to the john, and when I got back to the table he wasn't there. It didn't make any sense, because I know he was really looking forward to your--to seeing you."

"Do you know where he might have gone?" Phil said, because he really didn't need Peter Parker to know how eager he'd been to see Clint.

"No, but…" Peter trailed off.

"But?" Phil prompted.

"There was this guy I caught watching Clint--there was something hinky about him," Peter said, waving his hands. "He was, like, staring, but only when Clint couldn't see him. And something else was hinky--Clint was acting weird, almost like he was drunk."

"Clint doesn't drink," Phil said automatically, remembering when a student had questioned Clint at lunch out on the last day of clinical.

"I know!" Peter said, waving his hands some more. "I shouldn't have left him alone; I knew something was wrong." 

Phil suddenly got a very, very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. "The man who was watching him, what did he look like?"

"Tall," Peter said quickly. "Dark hair, kinda pale. I think his eyes were green. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Unfortunately," Phil said, trying not to freak out. Of course it was Loki. What the hell was he doing with Clint? "How long ago did this happen?"

"About fifteen minutes," Peter said. "I was about to page you--I didn't know what else to do."

"Which one was your waiter?" Phil asked, and Peter pointed out a girl with fading green in her hair. She looked at them furtively and then moved away as they approached. Phil slid around to block her access to the kitchen.

"You were paid to put something in my friend's drink," Phil said in his _Listen to me carefully or you will fail this class_ voice. "What was it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, not at all convincingly.

"That's not gonna work for me, so let's try this again," Phil said, this time more _Do you realize you could have killed that patient?_ "What did you put in my friend's drink?"

"I don't know. Really, I don't," she said, shaking her head. "The guy said it was some sort of practical joke. He paid me $250. My rent's overdue; I really needed the money. I swear I thought it was just a joke!"

"Where did they go?" Phil said, his mind racing as he tried to figure out his best course of action. Loki was a creep, but Phil had never thought he'd be capable of something like this.

"I don't know," she answered miserably. "I promise that I'd tell you if I did--I didn't know it was going to be like that--like, a roofie or something. It was only fifteen or twenty minutes ago that they left."

"Peter, call the police," Phil said, taking out his phone. 

"The police?" Peter said, his eyes wide. "What should I tell them?"

"Tell them you're reporting a kidnapping. Describe what Clint was wearing, and tell them Loki Laufeyson is the one who took him."

"Loki?" Peter said. "Oh, shit, Phil, I never would have--Clint told me about that guy. I never would have left him alone if I'd known."

"Call the police," Phil repeated, searching through his contacts until he found the right listing.

Thor answered after two rings with a jovial, "Phillip! How are you, my friend?"

"Not good," Phil answered. "Your brother drugged a friend of mine, and I need to find him. Do you have any idea where Loki might have taken him?"

"Where are you, Phillip?" Thor asked after a beat. Phil had never heard him sound so serious; it was not reassuring. 

"Nightcap Coffee. Loki _kidnapped_ my friend, Thor. Has he ever done anything like this before?"

There was another pause. Phil made himself wait, even though his heart was racing, his hands practically shaking with the need to do something.

"I don't know for certain, but there was a girl while we were in high school--"

"I need to know where to send the police," Phil interrupted. "Tell me where he is." He wouldn't let himself think about what Thor had implied.

"Loki lives in Lake Bluff, near Lake Forest. I will text you his address and meet you there," Thor said. "I doubt he would go anywhere else."

Phil hung up, swearing under his breath and watching his phone until the text came through.

"They want to talk to you," Peter said, giving Phil his phone. Phil took it with one hand and grabbed Peter's arm with the other, moving both of them outside.

The call took much longer than it should have--once Phil gave the police Loki's address, they transferred him to the Lake Bluff police, who required the same treatment the waiter had to take him seriously. By the time Phil hung up, another ten minutes had passed, and they were standing in front of his car in the hospital parking garage. God knew what Loki had done to Clint in that time. 

"I'm driving up there, but you should go home," Phil told Peter. "Here's your phone back."

"Clint's my friend," Peter answered, looking determined. "I should have watched out for him, and I didn't. I'm coming with you."

Phil thought about arguing, but it would take more time. "Fine," he said. "Get in."

Phil drove as fast as he dared up to Lake Bluff. Peter braced himself against the door and occasionally swore under his breath when Phil took a corner more quickly than might be advised. It still took another thirty minutes before they passed an ambulance (the lights were going, but not the siren) and pulled up in front of an ostentatious McMansion. 

There were three police cars and a second ambulance parked in the driveway. Loki Laufeyson was sitting at the back of the ambulance while an EMT brusquely palpated his head. When Phil got closer, he could see Loki's lip was bloody, and so was his nose. The EMT paused and frowned, and Loki winced.

Thor was standing off to the side with an older man, both of them watching Loki. Thor started towards Phil, but he stopped when Phil glared at him. 

Phil pushed his way past the crime scene tape, ignoring the police officer who told him to stop. He was relieved to see that Loki's hands were cuffed, although he'd have been happier if they were secured behind his back instead of in front.

"Phil, how nice to see you," Loki said with a sneer. "I never got a chance to thank you for bringing Clint into my life--he's truly remarkable."

Phil didn't realize he'd surged forward until he felt Peter's hand on his arm. He took a deep breath and let it out, forcing himself to step back again. 

"Sir, I need you to stay still," the EMT said, doing something that made Loki wince again. It almost looked intentional. Phil wondered if the guy knew Clint. 

"You'd better not have hurt him," Phil told Loki, shaking Peter's hand off. 

One of the cops took over, and he wasn't as easy to get rid of. "Cool it, sir," he said. "We've got this."

"Don't worry, Phillip. Your boyfriend is fine," Loki said. "We were sadly interrupted before we could finish anything. It's a shame, because that man has _heart."_

"What did you do to him, you son of a bitch?" Phil ground out.

An Asian man in a cheap suit walked up to him. He exuded a matter-of-fact competence Phil couldn't help finding a little reassuring. "Sir, I'm gonna need you to calm down," he said. 

Phil deliberately loosened his shoulders and took another step back. He needed to find out about Clint, not get himself arrested. 

"You done with him yet?" the guy asked the EMT, who nodded. "Get him out of here," he said, gesturing for another cop to load Loki into a patrol car.

Loki smiled at Phil as he got in, graceful despite the cuffs. "Clint will see me again, and so will you," he said. "I promise you that."

Phil swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat. He didn't turn away until the car had moved out of sight. Thor and the other man--probably their father--got into another car and followed them.

"I'm Detective Jimmy Woo, Chicago PD," the Asian guy said. 

Phil turned to face him. "I thought the Lake Bluff police were in charge."

"The crime originated in Chicago, so it's our case," Woo answered. "Detective Wilson over there is assisting." He pointed to an awkward looking man with a pockmarked face, who waved enthusiastically. 

Woo grimaced, his face turned away from Wilson. "Mr. Coulson, right?" he asked.

Phil nodded.

"What can you tell me about our vic? I gather he's your boyfriend?"

"Not exactly," Phil said, feeling uncomfortable. "He's a friend. A good friend. Where is he? Is he okay?"

"They took him to Lake Forest; that's the closest hospital," Woo said. "He was pretty agitated. They had to restrain him when he wouldn't calm down."

Phil wanted to hit something. Hard. He clenched his fists and said, "He's hearing impaired. Did anyone check to see if he had his hearing aids?"

"I didn't notice them, but I wasn't paying much attention to his ears," Woo answered. "Wilson, you notice any hearing aids anywhere?"

"I'll go check the house," Wilson answered.

"Now, Mr. Coulson, what can you tell me about Clint Barton? How do the two of you know Mr. Laufeyson?"

"Look, I'll be happy to answer any questions you have once I make sure Clint's okay," Phil said to Woo, waving Peter closer. "You'll want to talk to Peter--he saw at least some of what happened. Peter, I need to get to the hospital."

"Of course, sir," Peter said. "Don't worry; I've got this covered. Okay, see, I ran into Clint when he was waiting for Phil," he went on, focusing on Detective Woo. 

Woo frowned briefly, then gave Phil a nod. "Officer Smithfield can give you directions to the hospital," he said. "Stay there until you hear from me."

"I understand," Phil said.

Smithfield did better than give him directions: she let him follow her squad car. Phil gave her a heartfelt "thank you" before rushing into the hospital. 

He could hear Clint the second he stepped through the doors into the emergency department. Not all of it was intelligible, but it was definitely Clint's voice. He walked rapidly towards the desk as he heard Clint pleading, "Let me go!" in the background. Why the fuck did they have to restrain him? He heard, "Where is Phil? You need to find Phil!" and started running.

A nurse held up a hand to stop him, but he recognized her--they'd worked together when he'd first gotten out of school--and when he said, "I'm the Phil he's talking about," she waved him through.

"He's in eight," she said, gesturing down the hall. Not that it was necessary; all Phil needed to do was follow Clint's voice, which was loud and desperate. 

They'd put Clint in one of the trauma rooms. They'd pulled the privacy curtain around to block the door and the window. He pushed past the curtain and into the room and got his first look at Clint since the pinning ceremony. He was dressed in a black sweater and charcoal grey trousers Phil recognized; they went with the suit he'd worn at pinning. The trousers were scuffed at the knees, and there was a rip in the sweater. Clint had a split lip and a laceration above his left eye. 

He was fighting against four-point restraints, but when he saw Phil, he immediately went still. His hearing aids were missing, just as Phil had feared.

"Phil," Clint said, his voice quieter but still with a touch of desperation. "He lied, Phil. He said he had you, but you're here. Are you really here?"

"I'm here," Phil answered, making sure Clint could see him form the words. "Clint, hey, it's okay, I'm here."

The staff surrounding the gurney pulled back to let him move in, and he immediately released the restraint on Clint's left wrist, then his right. "He wouldn't listen," one of the staff said. She had mousy brown hair and a sour expression.

"He's hearing impaired," Phil said, moving down to release Clint's feet. "Clint, do you know where your hearing aids are?"

Clint reached up to touch his face. "He said he had you, Phil."

"It's okay," Phil said, swallowing hard. He took Clint's hand. "I'm here, Clint. It's okay. You're safe. I'm here."

"You're okay?" Clint asked.

"I'm fine, I promise," Phil said. "Do you know where your hearing aids are?"

Clint shook his head. "He took them. He said he had you, Phil. He lied."

"I know," Phil said, his voice cracking. "It's okay, Clint."

"We need to start an IV on him," the sour-faced staff nurse announced. 

"You need to get a blood sample as well, don't you?" Phil said sharply. "Seeing as he was drugged. Or did that get missed, too, like his hearing impairment?"

"That's enough of that, Phil," his former co-worker said. He thought her name might be Jan, or Jeanne, or something. It had been nearly twenty years since he'd worked with her, back when he was a GN. She'd had a few years experience on him back then. Clearly she still felt superior.

"Did they order a blood test or not?" he asked. Clint had closed his eyes, but he was gripping Phil's hand tightly, muttering under his breath. Phil thought he heard the name "Barney" and wondered why Clint was thinking about his brother.

"CBC, CMP, and a full tox screen," Jan or Jeanne or Jeanie said. "Along with a normal saline bolus, if we can get an IV into him. He should cooperate now, right?" 

She leaned over and tapped Clint on the shoulder. He flinched, eyes opening wide. "It's okay," Phil said soothingly. 

"We need to start an IV on you," she said, over-enunciating and speaking too loudly. "That means we need to give you some fluid, into your blood vessel, do you understand?"

Clint gave Phil a look that clearly said, _what the fuck is wrong with this woman?_ Phil bit his lip to keep from laughing; even drugged up, Clint wasn't going to put up with any bullshit. "Clint's a graduate nurse and an experienced medic," he said. "His hearing was damaged when he was in the military."

"Oh," she said, looking embarrassed. As she should. "Well, then, why won't he cooperate?"

"I don't know, maybe because he was _drugged and kidnapped?"_ Phil said, turning towards her. Her eyes widened, and she took a step back.

"Are you okay, Phil?" Clint asked, pulling on his arm. "He said he had you."

"I'm fine," Phil said, facing him again. "It's okay, Clint, I'm fine. Hey, they need to draw some blood and give you some fluids, okay? They're gonna start an IV, but I'll be right here."

"No," Clint said, shaking his head. "Please, don't let them give me anything, Phil." His eyes were wide, and his fingers tightened on Phil's arm. 

"No drugs, I promise," Phil said. "Just some saline and a blood sample, that's it."

"I think Loki gave me something," Clint said, a tremor in his voice. "Don't let them give me anything else."

"He drugged your drink, Clint, but you're safe now," Phil said.

"No, you don't understand," Clint insisted, moving restlessly on the gurney. "I think he _gave_ me something, Phil--drugs! I couldn't, he…. He said he had you!"

"It's okay, Clint," Phil said. "I'm okay. Loki's gone. You're in the hospital, and we need to get a blood sample to find out what he gave you."

"I told you, he gave me--at the _house,_ he gave me something at the house! Don't let them give me anything, Phil; they don't like me. Don't let them inject me with anything else, _please."_ He shook his head, pale and agitated.

"Clint, did Loki give you an injection?" Phil asked, but Clint just kept shaking his head. Phil looked carefully at Clint's forearms and saw a fresh scab and a bruise in his right antecube. "Did you get a picture of this?" he asked, barely keeping his anger in check. "Did anyone see _this,_ at least?"

"I saw it," Detective Woo said. Phil hadn't even noticed him entering the room. "We got a picture. But we need that blood sample, a sample from under his nails, and his clothes. If we want to put that son of a bitch away, we need all the evidence we can get."

"Clint, please, let them start an IV," Phil said, ignoring the rest of Woo's statement for the moment. "I'll be right here."

Clint shook his head again. "Don't let them, Phil. They don't like me. They're gonna give me something," he insisted.

"It's okay," Phil said, moving his thumb over the back of Clint's hand. "I won't let them hurt you, I promise. I'll make sure they don't give you anything." Clint settled down a little at his promise, but he still looked frightened.

"So what are we supposed to do?" the sour-faced brunette asked. "We can't treat him if he refuses."

Phil said the only thing he could think of. "What if I do it?" He looked at Clint. "Would it be okay if I start the IV, Clint?"

"You?"

"That's right. Me. You can watch me." Phil stroked Clint's forehead with his free hand.

"Okay," Clint said after a moment. "If you do it, it's okay." 

"You can't start an IV. You're not an employee," Sour-Face said prissily. Phil was really starting to hate her. "It's against hospital policy."

"I think we can make an exception just this once, Kristi," Jan or Jeanne or Jeanie said. Phil glanced at her nametag, but the lettering was too small to make out the name. Too many letters for "Jan," though. "I can vouch for Phil."

"Thanks," Phil said, nodding at her. "I appreciate it."

"If you want him to do it, you're charting it, Louise," Sour-Face said. "I'm not risking my license. I'll take over your kidney stone in three."

"Fine," Louise snapped. Her name was Louise? Jeanie must have been the one who'd gotten pregnant and quit. "You do that. Phil, I'll get your supplies."

"Make sure they're unopened," Phil requested. 

Her mouth turned down at the corners. She looked at Clint, then back at Phil. "My brother's on his third deployment," she said. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Louise came back as promised, her hands full. Phil opened everything carefully, making sure Clint could read his lips as he explained what he was doing, even though he knew Clint was just as familiar with the procedure as Phil was. The IV pump was an older model Phil hadn't worked with in years, but he remembered how to thread the tubing after staring at it for a moment.

He looked at Clint's forearm to choose the best site for the IV, telling himself that now wasn't the time to admire Clint's physique. If Phil couldn't help noticing that the lack of body fat and the well-developed musculature made Clint's veins easy to access, no one had to know.

Phil set up the extension set with the flush, got the tubing primed, and prepared his tape, torn to the right lengths and within easy reach. He put his gloves on and tightened the tourniquet on Clint's forearm. The site was prepped, the IV in Phil's right hand, the transfer device and empty tubes resting on the gurney next to Clint's arm. Phil paused for a moment, realizing he was actually a little nervous, which was ridiculous. He'd performed thousands of venipunctures over the years, the vast majority of them much harder sticks than Clint. 

Then he remembered the last time he'd felt this kind of uncertainty. It was when he couldn't access Ellie's port in the middle of the night, thanks to the home health agency not sending enough access kits. He'd had to start a peripheral line to give her her Dilaudid. It had been the most difficult IV start of his career.

Phil couldn't breathe for a second. 

Clint put his hand over Phil's and squeezed. "It's okay," he said. "Trust you." 

Hearing that could have made Phil even more anxious, but it didn't. Clint's voice and hand centered Phil, even as it made something clutch in his chest. He didn't say anything--he doubted he could come up with words for how he was feeling, even if he weren't in an emergency department surrounded by people he didn't know. He hoped Clint could read some of it, at least, in his face.

Judging from the small but genuine smile Clint gave him, he'd succeeded.

Phil smiled back, looked down at Clint's arm, and effortlessly slid the IV in, reaching automatically to block the vein from above as he removed the needle from the cannula and screwed the transfer device in. In less than a minute the three tubes were filled, the tourniquet off, the extension set in place, and the IV flushed. All that was left was to secure everything and start the fluids.

Once that was done, he grabbed a rolling stool from the corner of the room and sat down next to Clint, who immediately reached for his hand again. "Stay with me," Clint said.

"I will," Phil said. 

"I'm really tired. If I sleep, will you stay? Don't let them give me anything." Clint was barely keeping his eyes open.

"I promise," Phil said. "It's okay, Clint. You can sleep. I'll keep you safe."

"Don't let go," Clint mumbled, his eyes shut.

"I won't," Phil said, even though he knew Clint couldn't hear him.

***  
It didn't take long for Clint's face to relax and his breathing to even out. Phil watched him, grateful that Louise, Detective Woo, and everyone else had left the room. Apparently the police were okay with waiting a little bit longer for the rest of their evidence.

After a few minutes he carefully dug his phone out of his pocket with his free hand and dialed Darcy's cell. She picked up on the second ring.

"Boss, does this mean you're not coming home tonight?" she said, managing to sound both hopeful and scandalized. "Because I can totally handle that. You don't have to worry; the kids and I will be just fine while you have your booty call."

"Darcy," Phil said, caught by unexpected regret about what might have been.

"What's wrong?" Darcy asked, her tone instantly flipping to concern.

"I need you to get the kids up in the morning," he said, working through contingencies. "I don't know when I'm going to be home. I'm at the hospital--I'm fine, I promise," he added as she inhaled sharply. 

"Did you get called back to work?" she asked.

"No," Phil said, shaking his head despite the fact that she couldn't see him. "It's Clint. I can't give you any details, so don't ask for any, but we're at Lake Forest Hospital, and I don't know when they'll discharge him. I promised I'd stay with him."

"All right," Darcy said after a pause. "I won't ask, but, you know, let him know I hope he's okay. Or better, or whatever is appropriate."

"I will," Phil said. "And I'll text you later, when I know more."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of Ava and Henry."

"I know you will," Phil said. "Thanks, Darcy."

Peter came in after that; Phil suspected he'd been waiting outside until Phil had finished speaking with Darcy. "How is he?" he asked, nodding at Clint.

Phil shrugged. "His vitals are stable, and he seems to be resting comfortably. No one seems to be freaking out about his lab results, so I'm guessing they were okay." It's not like anyone would tell him anything. He wasn't family, and Clint obviously wasn't in any shape to sign a HIPAA consent. 

Peter nodded. "He's gonna be all right," he said, patting Phil on the shoulder awkwardly. "It's good he has you here. He, uh, he really cares about you."

"I really care about him," Phil said, too tired for anything but honesty. He looked at his watch, startled to see it was only a little after nine. It felt like it had to be past midnight.

"The cops are giving me a ride home," Peter said. "So don't worry about that. You can stay with Clint."

"Okay," Phil said. "That's good. Thanks." 

Peter left, and Phil was alone with Clint long enough that he nearly fell asleep himself, despite the typical ER noises going on behind him. He barely noticed when Louise came by to check on things. 

"His labs look good," she told him, nodding at her clipboard. "LFTs, CBC, it's all normal."

"Thank you," he said. If a nurse he worked with bent the rules half as much as he and Louise had that night, he'd have written them up. "I really appreciate it, Louise."

She shrugged. "What branch, do you know?"

"Army." Shit, Natasha. Probably best to let Clint contact her later; there wasn't anything she could do now.

"Paul's a Marine," Louise said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Let me know when he wakes up." 

"Will do," Phil answered, his attention already back on Clint.

***  
Phil was watching closely enough that he saw the first minute shifts in Clint's expression. He thought it meant Clint was waking up, but when Clint started muttering "Barney," and "No, please, no!" he took a deep breath and reached for Clint's shoulder. 

Clint sat up and swung at Phil, hitting him squarely in the face.

Phil pulled away. Clint reached for his face, but he dropped his hand before it touched Phil's skin. "Oh, God, Phil--Jesus, did I hurt you? Fuck, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Phil said, blinking hard. He hoped his eye wouldn't swell up too badly; he had a feeling he was going to have a hell of a shiner. "I'm sorry I startled you; I was just trying to wake you up."

"I can't believe I fucking hit you, and _you're_ apologizing," Clint said. "I'm so sorry, Phil; I don't know why I did that."

"I should know better than to touch someone with PTSD during a nightmare," Phil said, wincing as he saw Clint's expression shut down. Fuck, he was two for two with idiotic mistakes. "Sorry," he said. 

"It's okay," Clint mumbled. 

Neither of them said anything for a minute. "Clint," Phil said eventually, waving his hand to get his attention. "I should let them know you're awake."

"Yeah, I guess so," Clint said. "Don't let them give me anything, okay?"

"I won't, I promise," Phil said. "How are you feeling? It seems like you're more alert." He wasn't sure how Clint would respond to that, but he just grimaced. 

"That asshole drugged me," he said, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "Drugged me and lied to me. I feel like crap, but I can think a little better now."

"That's good," Phil said tentatively. "Right?"

Clint nodded. "Yeah. Go on, get the doc or whoever. Sooner they check me out, sooner I can get out of here. It doesn't feel right, being here."

Phil found Louise. "What happened to your face?" she asked, frowning at him. 

"It was an accident," Phil said quickly. "Clint was having a nightmare."

Louise studied him for a long moment. "Okay. I'll go tell Torres that he's awake."

Dr. Torres looked awfully young to Phil, but he seemed to know what he was doing. He spoke directly and without condescension to Clint, making sure Clint could see his face clearly. He asked whether Clint wanted to speak to him alone, and Phil was relieved and grateful when Clint said, "Phil can stay."

"Your tox screen was positive for benzos, amphetamines, GHB, rohypnol, and MDMA," Torres said bluntly. "We only have the screen at this point, not the quantitative, but frankly speaking, Mr. Barton, I'm surprised you're not in worse shape. That's a lot for your system to deal with."

"The guy who drugged me knows pharmacology," Clint said, grimacing. "Don't give me anything else, okay, doc?"

The physician tapped his pen against his clipboard. "At this point all your labs are normal, but I'd recommend following your liver and kidney functions over the next couple of days. I'm admitting you for observation; we'll draw labs again in a few hours."

"Do I really have to stay?" Clint asked, gripping the side-rail tightly. Phil silently offered his hand again, and Clint took it immediately. "I want to go home. I'll be fine at home. I can come back for the blood draws."

"Mr. Barton, we only tested for the most common drugs of abuse," the physician said. "If, as you say, the person who drugged you has a background in pharmacology, there's no telling what else he might have given you, nor what its effects might be. I'm not releasing you until I know you've cleared any toxins from your system." He turned and left the room without waiting for a response.

"I can't stay here, Phil," Clint said, almost pleading. "You know I'll be fine at home--can't you tell them that?"

"I can't, because I don't know that you would be," Phil said. "Give it a few hours, okay? Let's see how you do."

Clint squared his shoulders and nodded. "You don't have to stay," he said. He let go of Phil's hand, patting it once and moving his to the side. "You've been great, but you've done enough. You should get home to your kids."

"I'm not going anywhere," Phil said, leaving his hand where it was. "The kids have Darcy with them; they'll be fine."

Clint opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. He looked at Phil's hand. 

"I'm staying, Clint," Phil said after he looked up again. "Unless you don't want me here, I'm staying."

Clint's shoulders slumped, and he took Phil's hand again. "I want you to. Don't know why you would. I _hit_ you. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine--just worried about you," Phil said. "I know you didn't mean to hit me."

There was a single knock on the window. Detective Woo came in before Phil could answer. "Mr. Barton, I'm Detective Woo. I need to scrape under your fingernails, and I'm going to need your clothing."

"Yeah, okay," Clint said after a moment. "As long as they'll give me some scrubs."

"I'll go get some," Phil said. Clint looked worried, so he added, "I'll be right back, I promise."

Louise found another male nurse to let him into the locker room, where he grabbed a couple of different sizes of both shirts and pants. When he got back into Clint's room, a tech was scraping under his nails. Clint looked uncomfortable, but he wasn't panicking like he would have earlier.

"Are you up for answering a couple of questions?" Woo asked. "I have your hearing aids, if you'd like them."

Clint nodded, yanking his hand out of the tech's reach to put them in. "Go ahead, but make sure I can see your mouth," he said. 

"Are you sure you want Mr. Coulson here for this?" Woo asked. He managed to sound both professional and kind, qualities that probably helped as much in his job as they did in health care. 

"Yes," Clint said. "If it's okay with you, Phil," he added hesitantly. 

Phil nodded, giving Clint what he hoped was a reassuring smile. The tech was still working, so he settled for resting his hand on Clint's shoulder.

"All right," Woo said, taking out a notebook and a pen. "Take me through what you remember of what happened, starting at the coffee house."

Clint started talking. Phil could tell he was still affected by the drugs in his system, but every time he lost focus, Woo brought him back on task. Phil kept his breathing steady and listened, forcing himself to stay calm.

He managed all right until Woo asked about what had happened in Loki's living room.

"He didn't get very far," Clint said, his voice hitching. He'd taken Phil's hand as soon as the tech had finished, and he was squeezing it so tightly his knuckles were white. "I was pretty out of it, but I woke up some when he kissed me. Didn't know what was happening at first, but when he reached for my belt I elbowed him in the mouth. I was pretty confused; I couldn't have hit him very hard." He swallowed, looking away.

"What happened next?" Woo prompted after a moment.

"He started taking my sweater off. I tried to get away when he went for my belt," Clint continued, his voice barely audible. "He grabbed a syringe and held me down. Got the needle in, barely, but I don't think he was able to push much of whatever the fuck it was in before I headbutted his nose. We went back and forth for a while before I was able to get ahold of a lamp from behind me. I got him on the back of the head, messed him up a little. I knew I couldn't make it all the way out the door, but it gave me enough time to lock myself in the bathroom. I think I passed out in the bathtub; I'm not sure. I remember he was trying to break down the door. I think that's when the cops came."

"That's right," Woo said. "Thank you, Mr. Barton; that's enough for tonight. You can put your clothing in the bags as soon as you're ready. I'd appreciate it if you could come to the station for a full statement after you're released. You too, Mr. Coulson." 

"Yeah, we'll do that," Clint said, just a little louder. He grimaced. "I mean, I will."

"We both will," Phil said. 

Woo got a couple of cards out of his pocket. "You can reach me any time at that number." Phil wasn't sure, but he thought there was a slight hesitation when he handed a card to Phil.

"Thanks, Detective," Phil said. Woo nodded once and left the room.

"He likes you," Clint said. 

"I doubt that," Phil said. "How are you feeling?"

"A little nauseous," Clint answered. "Sorry you had to hear all of that. I mean, I'm glad you were here, but…."

"It's okay, Clint," Phil said. "I'm just glad you're all right."

"Not sure anything about me qualifies as 'all right,'" Clint muttered. "Told you, Phil--I'm fucked up."

"And I told you before that you're not," Phil said firmly. "Why don't you try to get some more rest?"

"Do they need a urine sample, you think?" Clint said. "Because I think my kidneys are working just fine."

"I'll check," Phil said, accepting Clint's deflection.

When he got back into the room with Louise, Clint was standing next to the gurney, swaying noticeably. "Let me help you, for chrissakes," Phil said, putting his arm around Clint's waist. "They have urinals. I know you know that; what the hell are you trying to do?"

"I'm fine," Clint said, scowling. "Just give me the damned cup and point me at the restroom. I need to get changed, anyway."

"Louise, could you give us a minute?" Phil said, his attention on Clint.

Louise snorted and said, "Sure, why the hell not. It's not like we're doing anything right tonight. Here," she added, handing him both the urinal and the sample cup. "You know what to do."

"Oh, no," Clint said, shaking his head. "You guys think I'm a fall risk, fine, I get it, but this is not happening. Phil, get out of here. Go on--shoo. I'm sure Louise can stand here and make sure I don't do anything that would necessitate an incident report."

Phil couldn't help laughing, both at being shooed out of the room and in relief that Clint was with-it enough to object to Phil acting like his nurse. "I'll be right outside if you need me," he said.

"Which I won't," Clint said. "Go."

Phil went.

He came back a few minutes later bearing break-room coffee; no one questioned a guy wearing navy scrubs, even though his badge was from a different hospital system. Clint was back on the bed, wearing the scrubs, and his clothing had already been taken away by the police. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing carefully in and out through his nose, his mouth a thin line. 

Phil might not have seen that look on Clint's face before, but that didn't mean he didn't recognize it. "Clint?" he said. He put one hand on Clint's shoulder and reached behind him with the other.

"Basin," Clint said tightly. Phil got it under him just in time. 

He automatically cataloged the amount, the color, and the way Clint kept retching long after anything substantial was coming up. He kept his hand on the back of Clint's neck, trying to convey as much reassurance and support as he could. Louise came in and unobtrusively replaced the basin with a clean one, handing Phil a damp washcloth so that he could wipe Clint's face in between bouts of vomiting. 

"Okay," Clint finally said, breathing hard. He spit into the basin in front of him. "Okay, I think I'm done."

Phil glanced into the basin just long enough to confirm there was no blood visible, then handed it to Louise to rinse out. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I just puked my lungs out," Clint answered, frowning. "Better keep that close," he added, reaching for the basin again.

"I can give you some Zofran," Louise offered. 

Clint started to shake his head, then stopped. "No, I don't want anything," he said. He was sweating, and his mouth had gone tight again.

"Are you sure, Clint?" Phil asked. 

Clint opened his mouth to answer, but instead he started retching into the basin again. He wasn't bringing anything up but small amounts of bile, but he kept it up for a few long minutes before it subsided again. "Okay," he said hoarsely, wiping at his mouth. "Okay, fine, give me the Zofran. Phil, watch her draw it up?"

"Of course," Phil said, nodding at Louise. She rolled her eyes and left the room, returning in a minute with the vial.

Phil reminded himself she wasn't his student as he watched her. Clint wasn't immunocompromised (at least that they knew of); he would be okay even if she barely wiped the top of the vial before injecting air, then barely wiped the port on the IV. He kept his mouth shut when she pushed the Zofran much more quickly than he would have permitted. He couldn't afford to piss her off, not after what she'd let him do earlier.

Fortunately, the drug worked quickly, allowing Clint to lie back in the bed again. "Thanks," he said, nodding once at Louise before closing his eyes.

Clint didn't rest for long. Barely fifteen minutes later, he was asking for Dr. Torres. "I'm fine," he insisted when the doctor just looked at him. 

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Mr. Barton, but I'm afraid I can't in good conscience release you," Torres said. "Not yet."

"Then when?" Clint said. "Because I'll sign out AMA if I have to."

"Please don't," Phil said, a hand on his arm. 

Torres studied the two of them. "I'll make you a deal. Stay here another three hours. We'll do another blood draw in a little while, and if it's okay, I'll let you go, on one condition."

"What is it?" Clint asked.

"You're a nurse, right?" Torres asked, looking at Phil. 

He nodded. "So is Clint. He hasn't taken his boards yet, but he graduated from nursing school."

"What's the condition?" Clint said pointedly.

"The only way I'd feel safe about letting you out of here is if you were in the care of a medical professional," Torres said. "Mr. Coulson, are you willing to look after Mr. Barton?"

"Of course," Phil answered automatically. "I mean, if that's okay with you," he added, turning to Clint.

"Yeah, I guess," Clint said, frowning. "You've done enough already, though. And your kids--what about them?"

"Darcy'll get them up in the morning; don't worry about that," Phil said. "Unless there's someone else you'd rather stay with," he added, unsure how to interpret Clint's expression. "Would an EMT be okay?" he asked Torres. 

"No, that's okay," Clint muttered. "Thanks. Three hours. I can do that." Phil could hear the "if I have to" he didn't say.

"Great," Torres said. "Why don't you get some rest? We'll check your labs again in a couple hours."

"Clint," Phil said when they were alone again.

"Can we just…I really don't feel like talking right now," Clint said, throwing his forearm over his eyes.

"Okay," Phil said, sitting back in his chair. He got his phone out and texted Darcy, letting her know what to expect in the morning. He could tell Clint was awake--he was so tense it would be hard to miss--but he didn't say anything. After a few minutes of silence, he opened up his email and responded to some of the messages. When he looked over again, Clint's eyes were still firmly closed, and he'd taken his hearing aids out.

"Okay," Phil muttered again. 

The message was certainly clear, although Phil couldn't quite figure out what it meant. It didn't help that he was tired himself--exhausted, if he were being honest. He hadn't slept well, and he'd been up for--he checked his watch--nearly twenty hours. Might as well try to get some rest himself. He scooted the chair back to the corner and leaned his head against the wall.

He woke with a start some time later, surprised he'd been able to sleep at all. When he looked over, Clint was watching him, another unreadable expression on his face. "Hey," Phil said, glancing down at his watch. "Have they been in to draw the blood yet?"

"Not yet," Clint said. "Phil…."

"What is it?"

"You sure about this?" he asked. "I'm fine now. You don't need to take me home."

"I'm not leaving you alone," Phil said. He moved the chair closer. "I'm not doing this out of some sense of obligation, Clint. I care about you. You know that. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Clint looked like he was thinking about arguing, but Louise came in before he could say anything. "I hope you'll let me do my job this time, Mr. Barton," she said.

Clint grimaced. "Yeah. Sorry about earlier. I wasn't…it wasn't that I don't trust you to do your job. Not when I'm thinking clearly, anyway."

"I understand," Louise said. "Now, make a fist for me."

They spent the last hour watching reruns of some inane home improvement show on the television in the corner of the room. Phil almost said something during the commercial breaks, but Clint's expression was flat and shut-down, so he stayed quiet. He thought again about texting Natasha but decided Clint's privacy was more important than his own need for reassurance.

Neither one of them said much in the car on the way back to the city, either. It wasn't until they got close to the house that Clint said, "I'd like to take a shower."

"Of course," Phil said quickly, glancing over at him. He wanted to bang his head on the steering wheel a second later. "Clint, shit, I'm sorry--I should have realized you'd rather be at your place. Where is it?"

Clint shook his head. "Your place is fine. Right now, all I care about's the shower."

"Are you sure?" Phil asked. "I don't mind turning around, and the kids'll be fine."

"I'm sure," Clint said. 

Phil wasn't so sure himself, but he figured insisting on turning around might make things worse at that point, so he kept going. A few blocks later he pulled past the mounds of snow surrounding the driveway and into the garage.

Once they got inside, Phil directed Clint towards the bathroom while he pulled some sweats and a t-shirt out of a drawer. "The towels are in the linen closet," he said. "I'll leave these here. I think there's a spare toothbrush under the sink."

"I don't want to keep you up," Clint said, frowning as he looked at the bed. "I'll be okay--just point me at the couch."

"You're sleeping here," Phil said firmly, taking a pillow and a blanket out of the closet. "I'll be on the sofa in the living room if you need anything. Take as long as you like in the shower. I'll probably be asleep before the water heats up."

"Phil, come on, I'm not taking your bed," Clint said. "The couch is fine."

"I'm not going to argue with you about this, Clint," Phil said. "You're a guest, and you're only out of the hospital because I agreed to look after you. You're taking the bed, and that's final." He turned and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

It took a few minutes, but by the time Phil had settled himself on the sofa, he heard the water running in the shower. It was still running when he fell asleep.

***  
Mrs. Danowski's schnauzer woke Phil up around five, so he took the opportunity to sneak into the bathroom and brush his teeth. There was enough light coming in from the street outside that Phil could easily see Clint, sound asleep, looking more relaxed than he had in the hospital. Phil stood there for a moment, watching him, before he told himself he was being creepy and left the room.

It was close enough to the time he usually got up that he didn't expect to get back to sleep, but he did, waking only when Ava squeezed herself into the last bit of space remaining on the sofa. 

"Dad, why are you sleeping out here?" she asked, reaching for the remote. 

"A friend of mine was hurt last night," he told her, sitting up and kissing the top of her head. "He needed someone to look after him, so I brought him home with me. He's asleep in my room."

"You're hurt, too," she said, frowning at him. "Do you need someone to look after you?"

"No, I'm fine, honey," he said. "I'm gonna go make some coffee--do you want some hot chocolate?"

"Can I drink it out here while I watch Mythbusters?"

"I'll make you a deal. You go brush your teeth, and then we'll watch Mythbusters together."

"Okay," she said, hopping back off the sofa. 

By the time they were curled up under the blanket with their respective mugs, Darcy was making her way down the stairs. Her eyes widened when she saw Phil, but she didn't say anything until he went into the kitchen to see about breakfast.

"Holy shit, boss, what happened?" she whispered. "I thought you said Clint was the one in the hospital."

"He was," Phil said, unsure what he should tell her. "He was…Clint was drugged and assaulted last night. At one point I startled him and he hit me before he realized who I was."

"Did you at least put any ice on it?" she asked after a moment, reaching for one of the cold packs they kept in the freezer. 

He shook his head. 

"What would you do without me?" she muttered, wrapping it in a dish towel and handing it to him.

"I don't know," Phil answered, kissing her cheek. "But I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," she said, and whacked him on the shoulder with another dish towel. "Go. I promised the kids chocolate chip pancakes, and you never put enough chocolate chips in. I've got this."

Phil went. 

Henry stumbled downstairs just in time for pancakes, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He was barefoot, the hems of his favorite pajama pants riding high on his calves. "What happened to you?" he asked, his mouth full of pancake.

"Got banged up helping a friend," Phil answered easily. "He's still asleep, so it'll just be you two and Darcy skiing. Do me a favor and remember your gloves this time."

"Can I have some coffee?" Henry asked.

"Half a cup," Phil said, knowing he'd take three-quarters. The coffee was a new habit. He was growing out of more than just his clothing. 

When he got close to the table, Phil snagged him around the waist and hugged him. Henry made as if to protest for a second, then relaxed into the hug. "Okay, enough already," he said after a moment, and Phil let him go with a smile.

***  
Phil didn't hear anything stirring from the bedroom until more than an hour after Darcy and the kids left. He put the newspaper back on the coffee table and took a sip of his coffee, leaning back in his chair. It was snowing out, just flurries--it would be pretty out at the park. 

Darcy, for all that she bundled up like an Eskimo, loved snow. She'd grown up in the desert and had barely heard of cross-country skiing before she took what was then a part-time baby-sitting job a few months after Phil had moved back to be with Ellie. She'd been looking forward to taking the kids skiing all week.

Natasha was Russian; she would probably scoff at Chicago winters. Phil didn't know what winter was like in Iowa. He could look it up online, find out how popular cross-country skiing was there. He may have forbid his students from using Wikipedia, but that didn't mean it wasn't useful. 

He took another sip of coffee to stop himself from grabbing his laptop. His coffee was cold, but there was more in the kitchen. At least, he thought there was. He was just getting up to go and check when the door opened and Clint came out of the bedroom.

Seeing Clint standing there, wearing his clothes, his hair flattened on one side and sticking up on the other, sleep creases still visible on his cheek, made Phil's heart thump painfully in his chest. He swallowed. 

"Hey," Clint said, scrubbing at the back of his head. He glanced at Phil's face and quickly looked down again.

"How are you feeling?" Phil asked. "Are you up for breakfast? There are pancakes, or I could make you some eggs and toast."

"You don't need to make me breakfast, Jesus," Clint said. "Just…is there coffee?"

"Of course," Phil said. "In the kitchen; I was just about to get some myself."

Clint followed him, wordlessly accepting the mug Phil handed him and taking a deep gulp. Phil went ahead and stuck a plate of pancakes into the microwave, figuring he could always eat them himself if Clint refused. It would give him something to do besides watching Clint and hoping. What for, he wasn't sure, although he would certainly appreciate it if Clint would actually _say_ something.

Instead, Clint stared at the plate for a moment before picking up his fork and eating.

"No more nausea?" Phil asked.

Clint shook his head. "Thanks," he said after a moment, gesturing with his fork. "It's good."

"I'm afraid I can't really take credit," Phil said. "They're Darcy's specialty. The kids would eat them every day if I let them."

God, could this be any more awkward? He took another sip of his coffee and sat down across from Clint.

Neither of them said another word until after Clint had put his empty plate into the dishwasher. 

"There an El stop anywhere close?" Clint asked.

"What?" Phil said before he could stop himself.

"I should get out of your hair," Clint said, like that was supposed to explain things.

"I'll drive you," Phil blurted out. "To the police station, I thought, although if you'd rather go home first--"

"You don't need to do that," Clint interrupted. "You've done enough, Phil."

"Clint…" Phil said, and put his head in his hands. Then, because he was still someone who believed in facing his fears, he lifted his head and met Clint's eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know I should have taken you to your place last night. I don't know what else I did, but whatever it was, I'm sorry."

"Damn it, Phil, you didn't do anything wrong!" Clint said, so loud it was nearly a shout. "I'm fucked up; I've told you that--why can't you just believe it? I certainly gave you enough evidence last night: Ineffective coping related to a fuck-load of issues, as evidenced by that," he said, pointing at Phil's face. "Among other things."

"This?" Phil asked, touching the bruising around his eye. "Clint, that was an accident! You were confused--traumatized--you had a nightmare, and you didn't know who I was. _I'm_ the one who screwed up, not you."

"Yeah, I'll give you confused--but also fucked up," Clint said, looking down. "Look, it's fine; you can drive me to the police station. But after that, I need some time alone."

"Okay," Phil said, telling himself the request didn't mean anything in particular.

They were silent again in the car. When Phil pulled into a parking spot on the street and shut off the engine, neither of them moved. "Thanks," Clint said gruffly. "For everything."

"You're welcome," Phil answered, unable to think of anything better to say. "I know you said you need some time, but I'll be around if you need anything. Just text me."

Clint nodded once. "When are you getting back from California?"

"I'm not going," Phil said. 

"What?" Clint said, turning to look at him for the first time since the kitchen. "No, Phil, don't do that. Go to California; don't wait around on me. I'll be fine. Like I said, I just need some time alone."

Phil had no idea how best to respond; he wished like hell he knew what was going on in Clint's head. 

"Seriously, Phil, you should go. I know you like to complain about Tony, but I also know how important SHIELD is to you. I'll be fine. I'll get in touch after you get home." 

If it was an act, it was one Phil couldn't see through. "Okay," he said after a few seconds. "If you're sure. If you change your mind--"

"I won't," Clint said firmly. "It'll give us both some time to deal with…with what happened."

"I'll be back on the third," Phil said reluctantly. "But you can always text me. Or call, if you want."

"I know," Clint said, opening the door and getting out. "I probably won't, though, for a while at least."

"Okay," Phil said. "I understand." He didn't, and he figured Clint knew that, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

He waited until he'd lost sight of Clint down the street before he got out of the car. By the time he got into the police station, Clint had already disappeared into an interview room.

***  
The only saving grace of that year's benefit was that Thor was absent. Phil knew he'd have to talk to the guy eventually, but he really wasn't ready to face him yet.

When he got home, Darcy handed him an envelope. "He dropped it off on New Year's," she said.

The note inside said, "I can't do this. I'm sorry." There was no signature, but he didn't need one; he would recognize Clint's writing anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Attempted sexual assault, including drugging and kidnapping.
> 
> Definitions for Ch. 4:  
>  **AMA:** against medical advice  
>  **Antecube:** the antecubital area of the arm, which is the inside of the elbow, where the biggest/most easily accessed veins are, for blood draws, large-bore IVs, or injections.  
>  **Accessing a port:** Ellie had a portacath, a kind of central line/central venous catheter implanted underneath the skin that must be accessed with a special needle and flushed with heparin, but which can stay in for years.  
>  **bolus:** a large volume of IV fluid or medication  
>  **CMP:** complete metabolic panel, including electrolytes, kidney and liver function tests, blood sugar, and protein levels. Clint's ER physician is checking to see if there's any damage that's been done by whatever Loki gave him.  
>  **Dilaudid:** hydromorphone, a powerful opiate derived from morphine that is used for severe pain  
>  **ED:** Emergency Department (more correct term than ER, although most people still use ER)  
>  **GN:** Graduate nurse--someone who has graduated from their nursing program but has not yet taken the NCLEX (nursing boards). Most hospitals allow GNs to work in a limited capacity while waiting to take/get their results from the boards.  
>  **Hard stick:** someone who has small, fragile, or hard to find veins, so that it is difficult to successfully insert a peripheral IV or draw blood  
>  **incident report:** an internal report, not part of the chart, that gets filled out when incidents that might lead to patient harm happen, e.g. falls, med errors, etc.  
>  **LFTs:** Liver function tests  
>  **orientee:** a nurse who is either new to nursing or new to that hospital/floor, who is being trained by a preceptor. Depending on the specialty and the hospital, orientation for brand new graduate nurses can run for 3-6 months before they are cleared to be on the floor on their own (without a preceptor); a nurse coming from a different hospital, with experience, might only need a few weeks of orientation.  
>  **Navy scrubs:** Many hospitals now require their staff to dress in different colors designating their role. Navy blue is the most common color chosen to designate nurses ("navy is for nurses").  
>  **Peripheral line:** a peripheral IV as opposed to a central line  
>  **Saline bolus:** A rapid infusion of normal saline (water with the same percentage of salt in it as is present in plasma), which will help clear any toxins from the kidneys.  
>  **Wiping the top of the vial/the port:** evidence-based practice has led to a recommendation that all ports or vials related to IV or other injections should be vigorously scrubbed with an alcohol wipe for at least 15 seconds to prevent contamination/infection; this is a relatively new practice (as in, within the last ten years)  
>  **Zofran:** ondansetron, an antiemetic (an anti-nausea drug) without the sedating properties of Phenergan (promethazine). It can be pushed over 30 seconds, but it is recommended to be pushed over 2-3 minutes instead.


	5. Decisional Conflict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisional conflict: Uncertainty about course of action to be taken when choice among competing actions involves risk, loss, or challenge to values and beliefs. --Ackley, B. J, and Ladwig, G. B. (2014). _Nursing diagnosis handbook: an evidence-based guide to planning care, tenth edition._
> 
> It's been three years since Phil saw Clint. He's fine. (He's not fine.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, people! Between writing struggles and Yuletide, this one took longer than anticipated, but hopefully it's worth the wait. This chapter has been vastly improved thanks to my wonderful betas, Hederahelix, Lyrstzha, and Dine. 
> 
> **Angiogenesis:** the creation of new blood vessels  
>  **The Circle of Willis:** a ring of arteries in the base of the brain that provides for collateral circulation  
>  **neurogenesis:** the creation of new neurons (nerve cells)
> 
> If there's anything else that needs defined, feel free to comment and I'll define away.
> 
> Trigger warnings for brief discussion of past sexual assault of a minor character.

Asking Jimmy to fly to Texas with him was a spur of the moment decision, one Phil hoped he wouldn't end up regretting--they'd only been dating for a few months. Right after he asked, he found himself hoping Jimmy would have some trial he had to be available for, or be unable to get the time off work, but he just grinned at Phil and asked when they were leaving.

Jasper, of course, slapped Phil on the back and told him he might still have it in him to be a real boy. Phil flipped him off and wondered why he'd ever encouraged Jasper and Maria to come to Chicago. It was nice to have someone to meet for a couple of beers, but he'd forgotten what Jasper could be like when he'd decided Phil was being obtuse about something.

"Seriously, Phil, he seems like a great guy," Jasper said when they were standing in the parking lot. "Even Maria liked him, and you know she's not the easiest woman to impress. I'm glad you're finally introducing him to your friends, even if it's taken you six months to do it."

At least Jasper didn't bring up the kids. Jimmy had stepped up the hints about wanting to meet them lately, and it was Phil wasn't sure how to respond. He hoped inviting Jimmy to Natasha's promotion ceremony was the right move, that it would make both Phil and Jimmy feel better about the way things were going.

He tried not to think of it as a test Jimmy needed to pass. It was as much about Phil as it was about Jimmy, anyway.

Phil paid for the tickets: first class, because the trip had more than enough potential for discomfort without adding flying coach to the mix. Jimmy protested, but Phil insisted. 

The trip and their conversations during the flight to Austin and the drive to Killeen weren't exactly uncomfortable, but Phil wouldn't go so far as to call them pleasant. It was difficult to tell Jimmy anything about Natasha without referencing Clint, a topic they were both scrupulously avoiding, although Phil wasn't exactly sure why, beyond the obvious. They'd pretty much run out of inoffensive and obvious topics by the time they went to meet Natasha and Melinda for dinner. 

Natasha greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "It's good to see you, Phil."

"Likewise," he said, smiling. She looked happier than he'd ever seen her. "Hello, Melinda," he added, offering his hand. Melinda wasn't the hugging type.

"Phil," she acknowledged, then surprised the hell out of him by pulling him into a quick embrace. "Glad you could make it. It's been a while."

Phil hadn't seen Melinda in years, not since his last visit to San Francisco before 9/11, although he'd been glad to tell Natasha to look her up once he realized they were serving together at Fort Hood. Melinda was perfect for Natasha, exuding the same stoic strength and _don't fuck with me_ attitude he remembered. 

"Have you heard from Bucky and Steve?" he asked once they'd settled in with their drinks. "They're in India with Bruce and Tony, right?"

Natasha nodded. "James sent his regrets, along with a dozen roses."

"How are Jasper and Maria?" Melinda asked. "Last I heard from them, they were getting ready to move to Chicago, but that must have been a year ago."

"They're great," Phil said. "They said to say hi. Jasper's trying to arrange some sort of reunion, maybe at the next board meeting. That's the only way we'll get Marcus to attend."

"Nat, did Phil ever tell you his wonderful nickname?" Melinda asked, smirking. "Marcus gave it to him."

"You have a nickname? This I need to hear," Jimmy said. 

"No, you really don't," Phil protested, laughing. 

"Why don't you want your boyfriend knowing your old boss and mentor calls you--"

Phil raised a finger and cut Melinda off. "Not another word, or I'll tell the whole table how you got to be called the Cavalry." 

"Nat already knows," she said, the fondness in her voice unmistakable. "Besides, at least my nickname's not as _cheesy_ as yours." She raised her eyebrow and waited for everyone to figure it out.

"You're shitting me," Jimmy said after a moment, clearly delighted. "Your nickname is Cheese?"

"There are very few people who know that, and even fewer who are permitted to use it," Phil said sternly. "You must take this secret to your grave, Jimmy. You too, Nat."

Natasha crossed her heart solemnly. 

"Okay, so who are all these people you're talking about, anyway?" Jimmy asked. "Who's Marcus? Who are Bucky and James?"

Natasha covered her mouth with her napkin, but her snort was still audible. 

"Bucky _is_ James, James Buchanan Barnes," Phil explained. "He's Steve Rogers' husband. And Marcus is Nick Fury, the head of SHIELD. Marcus and Melinda worked with me, Jasper, and Maria at San Francisco General, what, twenty years ago?"

Melinda nodded in confirmation. 

"That's the group you're on the board for, right?" Jimmy asked. "Because of your connection with Tony Stark or something."

"Phil, have you been hiding your light in a bushel again?" Melinda said. "Jimmy, Phil here founded SHIELD with Marcus and Steve, years before that whole thing with Stark."

"I think I liked you better when you didn't talk," Phil said. "Natasha, I blame you. She's entirely too relaxed."

The dinner conversation continued to flow naturally, and Phil found himself loosening up for the first time that day. The surprisingly good scotch probably didn't hurt.

Despite both Natasha's and Melinda's laconic natures, it was clear they cared about each other deeply. Phil had never seen either of them smile that openly or frequently before. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Melinda smile at all, although he'd caught her smirking on occasion. Seeing his two friends so happy together made Phil smile, too, although there was a thread of discontent underneath he had no desire to ferret out.

They weren't on base, and neither woman was dressed in uniform, but both of them looked up every time a uniformed service member entered the restaurant. The second time it happened, Phil noticed the way their body language shifted slightly until the soldier could no longer see them. Jimmy picked up on it too.

"I know it hasn't been repealed yet, but do you really have to be that careful?" he asked. There was concern rather than judgment in his voice, but Phil still wanted to kick him under the table. The majority of Jimmy's relationships had been with women, and sometimes Phil thought he just didn't get it. 

"Yes," Natasha said flatly. 

Jimmy sat back, chagrined. "Sorry," he said. "Of course you have to be careful."

"If the wrong person figures it out, it could cost Nat her promotion," Melinda said, and Jimmy winced. Phil swallowed some more scotch.

"It's got to be better than it was when I got out, though, right?" Jimmy asked. He'd been an MP during the first Gulf war, and, if Phil was remembering correctly, he'd been dating a girl he'd met in basic.

It looked like Melinda was going to say something, and it probably wasn't going to be nearly as polite this time, but Natasha gave her a look and she settled for glaring at Jimmy. Not that Phil could blame her. The atmosphere at the table had turned from relaxed to uncomfortable, and no one was saying a thing.

"I wanted to be an Army Ranger when I was a kid," Phil said, then wondered why the hell he'd chosen that as a conversational opener. He'd never talked about it with anyone other than Ellie. Maybe it was time to lay off the alcohol. 

"Yeah?" Jimmy said, leaning forward. 

Phil nodded. "My dad served in Korea, and my granddad got hurt on D-Day. I wanted to be like them when I grew up."

"What happened?" Jimmy asked. 

Phil shrugged. "I realized I was gay." That wasn't the only reason, but he was saved from saying anything else when the waiter brought their desserts.

Later, in their room, Jimmy said, "There's more to that story, isn't there?" When Phil glanced at him, he quickly added, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Phil sighed. "It's fine." He didn't particularly _want_ to talk about it, but he didn't have any reason not to, either. Might as well take advantage of being a little bit drunk; it would make the conversation easier. He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, wishing he were better at this kind of thing. 

"I was a junior in high school when I realized I was gay," he said once he'd settled next to Jimmy on the bed. "I knew by then I wasn't cut out for the Rangers, but I still planned on being a soldier. I worshipped my dad and granddad, and my dad wanted me to enlist. He said the army made him a man, and it would do the same for me."

Jimmy hummed in acknowledgment, leaning his shoulder against Phil's.

"Senior year, I was getting ready to apply to colleges with good ROTC programs, thinking about going pre-med or maybe pre-law, because my dad would _have_ to be proud of me for that, right? Except then he caught me making out with Dave Guiliani and kicked me out of the house."

"He kicked you out? For how long?" Jimmy asked.

Phil looked at him and shook his head. 

"Really? Jesus, that sucks," Jimmy said, putting his arm around Phil's shoulders.

"I moved into my sister's dump of an apartment and slept on the couch until one of her roommates left. I didn't move out until I got my first nursing job, and I didn't speak to my dad again until Ellie's funeral." 

Jimmy had a good relationship with his family. He'd invited Phil ("and the kids, too, of course") to his mom's for Thanksgiving, but Phil had turned him down, using Darcy's upcoming visit as an excuse.

"Fuck, Phil, I'm sorry," Jimmy said. 

"Don't be," Phil said, waving his hand. "It worked out. I found nursing, and I've never regretted it."

Jimmy was silent for a moment. "For what it's worth, I think you would have made a bad-ass Army Ranger," he said, brushing his lips against Phil's temple.

Phil snorted. "No, I really wouldn't," he said, remembering what Clint had told him about refusing sniper training. He didn't elaborate, and Jimmy didn't ask him to.

They had easy, comfortable sex and turned out the lights. It was nice having Jimmy in bed next to him. Phil had been worried he wouldn't sleep, but he woke feeling rested and mostly ready to face the day, especially after Jimmy handed him two Tylenol and a glass of water.

Phil forced himself not to linger too long over his mediocre pancakes and coffee. The promotion ceremony was scheduled for ten, but it was probably best to arrive early. He wanted to make sure they got decent seats.

They got there so early that hardly anyone was around. "You look fine," Jimmy told him as he straightened his tie for the second (okay, fourth) time. It was entirely too hot for November. "I wish you'd just relax. Is it really that big a deal?" 

"Natasha's promotion? Of course it's a big deal," Phil said, trying to figure out where the best sightlines would be. 

"You know that's not what I'm talking about," Jimmy said. He sounded resigned. "So you haven't seen him in three years. So what? It's not like you were even ever together, not really."

Phil opened his mouth to say something--he wasn't quite sure what, beyond maybe "are you fucking kidding me?"--but Clint walked in, and he forgot everything else.

Phil gave the woman who walked in with him no more than a quick glance. She was blonde, statuesque, and beautiful. She and Clint made a stunning couple, but Phil's eyes were immediately drawn back to Clint, who was dressed in a well-tailored, light grey suit, dark glasses protecting his eyes against the Texas sun. 

Phil's chest felt tight, and he could barely breathe. The color of the suit probably made Clint's incredible eyes stand out even more than usual. It seemed impossible that he'd forgotten just how attractive Clint was, but apparently he had. He knew he was staring, but he couldn't help it. 

He saw Clint's shoulders stiffen slightly and knew he'd been spotted. Clint took a breath and his mouth formed something adjacent to a smile, awkward and grimacing. Phil tried to smile back and was probably even less successful. He looked away, startled, when he felt a hand on his arm.

"You okay?" Jimmy asked him. He was studying Phil closely, and he wasn't happy. Phil supposed he couldn’t blame him.

Phil barely had time to mutter "I'm fine" before Clint and his wife were in front of them. He put on his blandest expression and turned to greet them.

"You must be Phil," Clint's wife said, holding out her hand. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Dr. Morse," Phil acknowledged, shaking her hand. "Congratulations on your success with the genetics of cerebral angiogenesis. I'll never teach about the Circle of Willis the same way again."

"Please, call me Bobbi," she said, her expression warming. 

"Detective," Clint said, shaking Jimmy's hand. Now that he was closer, Phil could see his hearing aids, which were much less obtrusive than the ones he'd worn in Chicago.

"Good to see you again, Barton," Jimmy said, stepping closer to Phil.

He took a deep breath and held out his hand. "Hello, Clint."

There was a tiny hesitation before Clint took it and shook firmly. "Hey, Phil. I'm glad you're here--I know it means a lot to Nat."

"Of course," Phil said. 

"Uh, anyway, I guess we'll see you at the luncheon," Clint said, dropping his hand. 

"Sure, we'll see you there," Jimmy said, taking Phil by the arm. "Come on, let's go find a seat."

There was still a half hour to go before the ceremony would start, but Phil was more than willing to follow Jimmy to the other side of the garden. "You okay?" Jimmy asked again.

"Stop asking me that," Phil said tightly. "I told you, I'm fine."

"Sorry," Jimmy said, raising his hands defensively. "You seem a little upset, that's all."

Phil breathed in and let it out. "No, I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to help. But maybe lay off telling me to relax."

They sat in silence for a few moments. "Get a load of that guy over there," Jimmy said eventually, gesturing towards the short, rotund man in a cowboy hat, western shirt, and brightly embroidered boots. "I thought that was supposed to be a stereotype. Didn't know we'd really see people like that here."

"If you think that's bad, you should have heard the women at the next table talking this morning at breakfast, before you got there," Phil answered. "It was all 'sweetie' this and 'bless your heart' that, but with the bitchiest undertone I've ever heard. And their hair was even bigger than that guy's hat." They spent the rest of the lead-up to the ceremony mocking everything and everyone around them. It wasn't something he normally would have done--Phil had always made an effort to accept everyone for who they were--but Phil was grateful for the distraction.

The ceremony itself went smoothly, and there wasn't much awkwardness afterwards, just a lot of hugs and congratulations for Natasha. Things got more complicated at the luncheon, where they were all seated together. Clint and his wife took seats across from Phil and Jimmy. Clint was next to Natasha. 

Dr. Morse took the initiative after a few moments of silence. "Melinda, how did you and Natasha meet?"

"We were stationed together," Melinda answered. She didn't volunteer anything else, and neither did Natasha. 

Phil suppressed a sigh. They were there for Natasha, and there was no reason they couldn't make polite conversation.

"Dr. Morse, I'd love to hear how your research is coming," he said. "I understand you've been awarded a new grant from the NIH?"

"I thought I told you to call me Bobbi," she said, smiling at him, although it looked a bit strained. 

"Bobbi," he acknowledged. "What's the focus of the grant?"

"We'll be looking into the role endothelial growth factor might play in neurogenesis, actually," she said, her face and voice brightening. "We're hopeful it may eventually lead to treatments for stroke, Alzheimer's, or motor neuron disorders."

The conversation took off from there, mostly Phil and Bobbi, but with occasional remarks from the others. Jimmy tried gamely to follow along but was clearly lost. Clint's comments were on point and insightful, and from the looks Bobbi gave Clint, Phil could see she appreciated his intellect. That was good, that he had someone who recognized how intelligent Clint was. He deserved that kind of relationship, full of mutual respect. Phil was happy for him. 

Maybe if he kept telling himself that, he'd start to believe it.

It was while they were finishing up the tres leches cake that Clint said, "Phil, I need to talk to you and Jimmy about something."

"What's that?" Jimmy asked, moving closer to Phil. 

Phil stayed still and tried to appreciate that Jimmy was being protective. Had been being protective, all morning. Apparently that was what you did when you were in a relationship and were faced with your…with someone like Clint.

"I'd rather not talk about it here," Clint answered. "You'll be at Nat and Mel's later for the barbeque, right? We can talk then."

"Clint, what's this about?" Phil asked.

Clint grimaced. "It's about Loki."

"He's up for parole early next year," Jimmy said.

"He is?" Phil asked, wondering why Jimmy had never told him. "I'll testify at his hearing, if that's what you need," he told Clint.

"We can talk at the barbeque," Clint said, his jaw tight. 

Phil bit back a thousand questions and nodded. "All right. Jimmy, are you ready to go?"

"Sure," Jimmy answered, resting his hand at the small of Phil's back. It didn't feel as comforting as he no doubt intended. Phil ignored the irritability he was feeling and left the room, Jimmy following closely behind.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me about Loki?" he asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

"I thought you knew--didn't the parole board contact you?" Jimmy said, taking a step back.

"No," Phil said. He tried to get a handle on his anger, but he wasn't very successful. He wasn't sure exactly who or what he was angry about, but Jimmy was definitely somewhere in the mix. "Even if they had, why wouldn't you mention it? You know what he's capable of, Jimmy!"

"I'm sorry," Jimmy said. Phil was really getting sick of hearing him say it. "You're right. I should have said something."

Jimmy tried to joke with him on the way back to the hotel, but he subsided after Phil glared at him. When they got into their room, Phil immediately changed into his workout gear and headed for the gym. He was relieved when Jimmy stayed behind.

Jimmy was sitting on the bed, watching a football game, when Phil got back a couple of hours later. University of Texas versus Oklahoma, it looked like. All the televisions in the gym had been showing it, and most of the people had been paying more attention to the game than their workout. 

"Are we ever gonna talk about this?" Jimmy asked.

"Not now," Phil said, and stepped into the bathroom. He might not be being fair to Jimmy, but he couldn't force himself into being a good…whatever he was, not right then. Jimmy would understand. 

He wondered briefly if Jimmy was too understanding, then pushed the thought away. It wasn't true, anyway; if anything, Jimmy needed to be more tolerant. The thought of Jimmy understanding him didn't make him feel any better, although he felt like it should.

They were silent in the car again. Phil just wanted to get there, hear whatever Clint had to say, and get out, and Jimmy seemed like he might feel the same. Fortunately, Clint and Bobbi were already at the house. As soon as they had beer in hand, Phil and Jimmy found Clint waiting at a table and chairs set up in the corner of the lawn, under a tree.

He'd changed out of his suit into a soft-looking grey t-shirt and jeans. He had a can of Red Bull in his hand, and his leg was jittering under the table. If anything, he was even more attractive than he'd been in Chicago, and Phil ached with regret.

"What did you want to talk to us about, Barton?" Jimmy asked, after it was clear neither Phil nor Clint were going to start the conversation. "You said it was about Loki?"

Clint grimaced. "About a year ago, I heard from this lawyer back in Chicago. Turns out I'm not the only one Loki ever pulled this shit on. There was a girl back when they were in high school, and she wasn't as lucky as I was." He met Phil's eyes briefly. "I know that's thanks to you," he said. 

Phil nodded, feeling awkward. 

"So Loki raped this girl, Leah, back in high school, and said if she ever told, he'd sic his family and their lawyers on her and her parents. It worked, at least for a while. By the time she wanted to go to the police, she figured it was too late to do anything about it. But then she heard about what happened with me, and she figured this was her chance. It's past the statute of limitations, but she's suing the asshole, and she asked if I'd join the suit. I said yes." Clint took a drink, and so did Phil. So that's what Thor had meant that night. 

"I don't give a fuck about the money, and neither does she, but it's the only way to get them where it hurts, especially since Loki's sure to get out next year. He's the type to hold a grudge, but if we can make enough noise about it, maybe he won't get the chance to hurt anyone else." Clint looked at Phil again, and Phil knew he was thinking about Phil and his kids, like Jimmy should have but apparently didn't.

"What do you need?" Phil asked.

The answer was depositions and testimony, which both Phil and Jimmy agreed to immediately. Phil wished Clint hadn't looked so surprised when they did.

Clint came up to Phil again later, after he was full of barbeque and a few beers. "Do you have a minute?" He had an earnest expression on his face. 

Phil knew he shouldn't care about Clint anymore, but he couldn't help it--when he saw Clint looking like that, he wanted to pull him into his arms and never let go, just as he always had.

"All right," he said, glancing over his shoulder at Jimmy. He was standing with Bobbi, both of them looking at Phil and Clint with unreadable expressions. Phil gave a little wave, and Jimmy nodded.

It was dark out, and much cooler, thankfully. Everyone else had moved inside after the sun had set. They could they could still see well enough to make their way to the table they'd been at earlier, now gently lit by the Christmas lights draped around the tree. Phil paused to consider how Melinda and Natasha's relationship had changed things for both of them, so much that they had a house with a yard and Christmas lights. 

Phil sat at the table, and Clint sat in a chair facing him, his hands clasped between his knees. It reminded Phil of all the times Clint had come to see him in his office. He donned his professorial expression and waited for Clint to speak.

"I owe you an apology," Clint said after a moment. "You…if you hadn't been there, if you hadn't called the cops, if you hadn't…if you weren't there in the hospital…."

"I wish I could have done more. If I hadn't been stuck at the hospital so long…" Phil still wondered what else he'd done wrong that night.

"You know that wasn't your fault," Clint said, frowning. "Loki paid off those nurses so they'd call in sick. He made sure you'd be late."

Phil realized his hand was resting on Clint's arm. He pulled away, leaning back in his chair. He couldn't let himself be caught up in this again. Years had passed. Clint was _married._

"Was there anything else?" he asked, his voice cool and detached. He had to maintain some distance; it was the only way he was going to make it through this.

"Was there--fuck you, Phil. I'm trying to _apologize,"_ Clint said, scowling impressively. "I get that I'm not your favorite person, but could you maybe just listen to me? I promise it won't take long." 

A pissed-off Clint was easier to deal with than an earnest one, but Phil could recognize that he was being a bit unfair. It wasn't Clint's fault Phil was only now, of all times, realizing he wasn't over it all yet. Wasn't over Clint, specifically. "Sorry," he said. "Go ahead. I'm listening."

Clint blew out a breath. "Look, you were…you were a good friend, a great one, and you helped me through a really rough time. And I was a total dick to you. I shouldn't have left like that, without talking to you. I'm sorry, that's all."

Phil sat there for a moment before deciding he couldn't possibly make things worse than they already were. "I just wish I knew why," he said. "Why you left."

"I hit you," Clint said. "I know you said it was no big deal," he added when Phil opened his mouth, "but it was to me. I thought…I freaked out. I got scared, and I ran. It wasn't fair to you, I know, but it was for the best. You deserve better than you would have ever gotten from me."

"I guess we'll never know," Phil said, letting the bitterness and regret bleed through, just a little. 

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you have Jimmy," Clint said. "He's a good guy."

 _He's not you,_ Phil thought. Jimmy was the last thing on his mind.

"Yeah, he is," Phil said when he realized Clint was waiting for him to say something. It was even true--Jimmy _was_ a good guy, at least most of the time. "Bobbi's great," he added, because she was. He couldn't add anything like "I'm happy for you" without sounding insincere. 

"She is," Clint agreed, although he was frowning again. "I, uh, I should get back to her."

"Of course," Phil said, standing and offering his hand. "I appreciate the apology and the explanation. You didn't have to do that."

"Yeah, I did," Clint answered, shaking his hand. "Take care, Phil."

"You too," Phil said, and meant it.

He and Jimmy left a short while later, keeping a foot or more distance between them as they walked out to the car. Jimmy didn't say anything during the drive back to the hotel, but Phil could feel him putting the last pieces of the puzzle together like the excellent detective he was. When they got back to the room, Jimmy moved his bags off the second bed and went into the bathroom. Phil changed into the pajama pants and t-shirt he almost hadn't brought with him. 

"I'm sorry," he said when Jimmy came out and got into the second bed. "I swear, Jimmy, I didn't know. I really thought I was over it."

"I believe you. Which is fucking sad on any number of levels," Jimmy said. "It's not a surprise--you're the most reserved, buttoned-down guy I've ever met; it makes sense that you yourself might be just as clueless about what's going on in your head as anyone else. At least I found out now and didn't waste another six months wondering when you were finally going to let me in. I thought maybe, when you invited me to this, but it was never going to happen."

Phil escaped into the bathroom, stung. When he got out, Jimmy was lying on his side, facing away from Phil. 

Neither of them said more than a few words all through the next day's travels, until they pulled up to Jimmy's apartment. "Here," Jimmy said, handing Phil a check. "It would make me feel better if you'd take this."

"What is it?" Phil asked, confused.

"It should cover my share," Jimmy said. "Let me know if I missed anything; I wasn't sure how much the rental was."

"Jimmy, you don't have to do this," Phil protested. 

"Yeah, I do," Jimmy said. "Please, Phil. Just take it."

Phil did.

***

Darcy came for Thanksgiving, the first time they'd seen her since she moved to New Mexico that spring. The whole house lit up when she walked through the door, a big smile showing under the familiar layers of knitwear. Phil hadn't realized how much he'd missed her until that moment.

"I thought I told you two to stop growing already!" she announced when she saw the kids. Henry let go of his usual I'm-sixteen-and-too-cool-for-words reserve and swept her off her feet, twirling her around before he let her down again, a huge grin on his face. Jesus, he was taller than Darcy; he'd be taller than Phil any day now. Ava held back a little until Darcy wrapped an arm around her neck and gave her noogies. 

Phil made sure to tell her he hoped she'd be there for Christmas as well, but she looked at him apologetically and said she didn't think she'd be able to make it. "It's not that I don't want to be here," she said, "but Jane's research is really ramping up, and she needs me. She's pregnant, Phil."

"That's wonderful news," Phil said, although he couldn't help feeling let down. Darcy had never come right out and said it, but he'd gotten the impression Jane and Thor had been trying to conceive for quite a while. Once the baby arrived, Darcy would be even more tied to New Mexico than she was now; Jane was her best friend. "Are they going to the SHIELD benefit this year, do you know?"

"I think they're playing it by ear," she said. "Jane's been puking, like, all the time--it is seriously disgusting; we're talking Exorcist levels of gross--but she's hoping it'll be better soon. She's almost into the second trimester."

"Give both of them my best wishes," he said. "What else is new in your life?"

"We've been so busy that I got me my own intern," Darcy said, grinning. "Well, he _was_ my intern, but now he's sort of my boyfriend."

"That's great, kiddo," Phil said, smiling back at her. The spike of jealousy he felt was unfair; he'd always wanted the best for her, ever since she was the skinny sixteen year old babysitter helping Ellie. "What's he like?"

"British, cute, great kisser," she said, ticking the words off on her fingers. "How's things with you and the cop, by the way?"

Phil looked down. "That's not a thing anymore."

"Oh, no," Darcy said, putting her hand on his arm. "What happened?"

Phil hadn't talked to anyone about it, but he found himself telling Darcy everything. It was embarrassing, but it wasn't like Darcy was still that sixteen year old. She was, as she'd told him before she left for New Mexico, "a grown-ass woman, Phil," and he trusted her more than almost anyone else in his life. If he couldn't pour out his heart to her, he didn't know who he could. Well, Jasper, but Jasper would just give him shit about it.

It occurred to him that only having two adults in his life he could talk to about this kind of thing was maybe not the best thing. Especially considering how little experience he actually had with anything approaching a real relationship. But it wasn't like he could talk to _Natasha_ about it--maybe other stuff, but not this.

"Do you think he was right?" Phil asked at the end. "Am I too repressed to let anyone in?"

"You've got a hell of a poker face," she said, her brow wrinkling. "But I've seen you with your family. You're not repressed at all, at least not at home. If that Jimmy guy missed that, he's a shitty detective."

"I never gave him the chance," Phil admitted. "I thought maybe after Nat's ceremony…."

"No offense, Phil, but weren't you going out with him for, like, six _months?"_ Darcy said. "You never once brought him home? That's--I got to say, I kinda get where he was coming from, because that's kind of fucked up."

"I brought him home, just not when the kids were there. I wanted to be sure," Phil said, his shoulders going up defensively. "I thought if I waited..."

"You'd get over Clint Barton?" Darcy asked. "Sounds like that worked out great for you, boss."

"I never claimed to be any good at this stuff," Phil protested. 

"Phil, you _suck_ at 'this stuff,'" Darcy said, whacking him on the shoulder. "Next time you start seeing someone, give me a call, okay? Because you could use the help."

"I doubt that's ever going to happen," Phil said. "I don't think I'm cut out for a relationship." He had his kids, his work, and his friends. It was enough.

"Pshaw," Darcy said, waving her hands. "We just gotta find you the right guy, that's all. I'll get you set up on OK Cupid before I leave."

"Dear God, no," Phil said, horrified. "Absolutely not."

"Maybe not right away," Darcy conceded, studying his face. "But you have to get back out there, Phil. You're too good a guy to stay single." 

"Oh, I'm a great catch," Phil said. "What man wouldn't want a short, balding, boring guy in his forties? They'll be breaking down the door to get to me."

"For a such a smart guy, you sure are an idiot," Darcy said, but she let the subject drop.

Everything that had happened got him thinking. He spent the rest of the semester and most of the winter break doing a lot of soul-searching. He didn't come to any lightning bolt conclusions, but he figured he could try opening up just a little. When he introduced himself to the new group of students that January, he told them he had two kids, a boy and a girl, both teenagers. 

The sky didn't fall. They didn't even look particularly interested.

He didn't give them his cell phone number, though. And he never set up a profile on OK Cupid, no matter how much Darcy bugged him.

***  
Natasha called while he was on an extended tour of colleges with Henry in the summer of 2011. "What's the occasion? Is Melinda getting the promotion this time?" he asked when he answered the phone.

She laughed. "No, nothing like that. Just wanted to check in with you."

 _Sure you did,_ he thought. He could count on one hand the number of times Natasha had called him. 

"Okay," he said. "We are currently traveling all over the Great Lakes region and more, looking at colleges. Henry has decided he wants to major in history, or maybe creative writing, and he wants to do it somewhere small and exclusive. We've been to Swarthmore and Oberlin, and we're currently in Gambier, Ohio, home of Kenyon College, which I sincerely doubt he'll choose, since I think living in a town of 2,000 people might qualify as torture under the Geneva Accords."

Natasha laughed again, deep and throaty. "He's got expensive tastes, Coulson. No UIC for your kid, huh?"

"He says he's going to check out Northwestern and University of Chicago, but I think he's just placating me," Phil said. "We're heading to Earlham and Carleton before we get home. Now tell me why you called."

"It's about Clint," she said.

"Is he okay?" Phil blurted out. It was like a fucking reflex; he couldn't stop caring if he tried. Which he had. Repeatedly.

"He's fine," she said. "He's doing better than probably any time I've known him."

"Oh," Phil said, sitting back on the bench. He hadn't even realized he'd stood up. "Good."

"His and Bobbi's divorce was finalized last month," she continued, and Phil almost stood up again, because she'd never mentioned Clint having any problems with his marriage. "He's been living in New York for about a year and a half. He's got a good job. He's been seeing a therapist."

"You're kidding me," Phil said. "Clint Barton is seeing a _therapist?"_ The divorce was surprising enough, but this was unprecedented. Phil had thought about seeing one--had been thinking about it for about as long as he'd been trying to stop caring about Clint--but he'd never acted on it.

"I know, I couldn't believe it either, but he and Bobbi went to a marriage counselor for a few months. I guess something must have stuck, finally, because he went looking for one as soon as he got to New York."

"Wow," Phil said after a moment. "Sounds like a lot has happened in the last couple of years."

"He asked me not to tell you," she said. 

"But he's okay with it now?" Phil asked.

"Yeah," she said. "That's why I'm calling. He'd like to get in touch with you, but he wanted me to check to see if it was okay first."

When he didn't say anything for a few seconds, she said, "Surprised, huh?"

"Little bit," he answered, trying to get his brain around this new reality.

"It's okay if you say no," she said. "Or if you need some time to think about it."

"No, that's…" he shook his head. "It's okay. Tell him it's okay."

"Are you sure?" 

"Sure as I can be," he said. Maybe he'd finally be able to get some closure on it all. "Only…I'm not up for seeing him. What does 'getting in touch' mean?"

"He said he wanted to write you a letter. I gather it's something his therapist suggested."

"This isn't some kind of twelve step making amends thing, is it?" he asked, because he wasn't sure he was ready for that.

"Not as far as I know," she said, which wasn't completely reassuring. "I don't think he's been hanging out in any church basements."

"Maybe he could start small, like with an email," Phil said, looking up. Henry and Ava were waving at him from across the street. "I've got a couple of hungry teenagers to feed, so I've got to let you go."

He pushed the conversation out of his mind for the rest of the trip, and he didn't check his email until they got home a week later. There was quite a backlog to weed through, but he only had to scroll back a couple of days before he saw an email from "Hawkeye72RN@gmail.com" with the subject line, "hey."

_Hey, Phil. Nat said you said it would be okay to get in touch, but if you've changed your mind, I get it. If you're up for it, though, there's some stuff I'd like to tell you. Nothing bad._

_It's in a letter, so let me know if it's okay to mail it. I won't contact you again unless I hear from you._

_Clint_

Phil took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He read the email again. And then he clicked "Reply."

***  
A fat envelope arrived three days later. His stomach clenched when he recognized Clint's chicken scratch on the outside. He waited until Henry and Ava had gone up to their rooms after dinner before he went into his office and opened it. 

The letter turned out to be hand-written, six pages, front and back. It started out tentative and apologetic, but by halfway through the first page, it had morphed into a detailed history of Clint's life from his earliest memory (his father hitting him while Barney tried to protect him) until he left the circus for the second time to get his GED and join the army. Phil suspected there were a few things Clint was holding back, maybe more than a few, but he was still blown away by how much Clint laid right out for him. 

It wasn't just personal history--there was a lot of introspection and analysis as well. Some of the conclusions Clint had reached about himself didn't surprise Phil in the least. When Clint wrote about his fear of turning into his father, Phil grimaced--he should have picked that up himself. Of _course_ Clint had freaked out when he hit Phil. That he had worried about hitting his wife as well made perfect sense, although Phil couldn't tell how much that had to do with their split. 

The disclosure that Clint had never actually had sex with a man took him aback, especially after reading that he'd pretty much always known he was attracted to both men and women. The homophobia he'd encountered from his brother and his so-called mentors (what the fuck kind of asshole left _his only brother_ for _dead?)_ seemed to have had an outsized impact. Or maybe it was just easier to be with women. 

By the time Phil had read the letter a second time, he felt completely wrung-out. He'd known Clint had had it rough, but he'd had no idea how bad it had been. 

He also had no idea why Clint had chosen to write it all down and mail it to Phil, of all people, or what he was supposed to do with the information. "I wanted to maybe explain a little about why I am the way I am" wasn't especially helpful. 

After he'd been staring out the window with the letter in his hands for some unknown period of time, he locked it in the drawer of his desk and went out into the living room. There was a backlog of Dog Cops episodes waiting on his DVR. 

Ava and Henry came down during the second episode. "You guys know I love you, right?" he asked, pulling them down to sit on either side of him.

"Oh God, did something sad happen on Dog Cops?" Ava exclaimed.

"No," Phil said, laughing. "I just love you guys, that's all."

"Yeah, yeah, we love you too, Dad," Henry said. "If I make us some popcorn, can I have a beer with you?"

"What? No!" Phil said, pushing away the thought that he'd been able to drink legally when he was a few months older than Henry. Phil wouldn't be able to do anything about it once Henry was at college, but while he was at home, he could stick to pop. He couldn't believe his son was going to be eighteen in November.

"But you said you _loved_ me," Henry answered, eyes widened dramatically. "Don't you want me to be happy? Because beer would make me happy."

"No, it wouldn't," Phil said, remembering Clint's description of his dad's alcohol-fueled abuse.

"Hey, seriously, are you okay, Dad?" Henry asked, picking up on the shift in Phil's demeanor. 

"Yeah, kiddo, I'm fine," he said. "Go make us some popcorn."

Ava didn't say anything else, but she snuggled right up next to him on the sofa, a rare occurrence of late, and she gave him a kiss and a hug before she headed off to bed after another episode.

He tried to put the letter out of his mind that night, but he couldn't. After an hour of tossing and turning, he gave up and went back downstairs. He read the letter a third time before opening his laptop. It took him a few drafts to get an email he felt okay about sending.

_Clint--_

_I wanted to let you know that I read your letter. I appreciate your honesty and openness, but I'm not sure why you sent it or what, if any, response you're expecting. It does help me understand what happened between us a little better, if that was your goal._

_Phil_

Sleep came a little easier when he got back to bed. 

There was another email waiting for him when he got home from the hospital the next afternoon. 

_Phil--_

_I'm glad you read the letter. I don't have any expectations--you can burn it if you want, and never have anything to do with me again. It's up to you. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't hope that it helped clear the air enough that you'd be willing to stay in touch. Before everything went to hell between us, you were a mentor to me, as well as a good friend. I've missed having that in my life, and I'd really like the chance to earn back at least a little of your respect._

_No matter what, I'm thankful you read the letter, and I sincerely wish you and your family well._

_Clint_

After another interlude spent staring out the window (it was beginning to become a habit), Phil frowned and shook his head. He emailed Clint that he'd need some time to think about it, and that he'd be in touch when he'd decided. Then he changed his clothes and went for a run.

Running had helped him figure out a lot of stuff over the years--it was when he was practicing with the cross-country team in high school that he'd realized he was gay--but this time it didn't do the trick. Five sweaty miles later, he gave up and headed for home. 

After a couple of days and conversations with Jasper, Darcy, and Natasha, he was still completely at a loss. He worked up his courage and asked John, a new faculty member in psych, if he had any recommendations for a good, gay-friendly therapist. 

Idunn Arnadottir had a PhD in psychology from Northwestern. She also was apparently some sort of distant cousin to Thor (and thus to Loki), but she said that was true of a lot of Norwegian immigrants in Chicago and assured Phil she'd had no contact with the Odinsons in the last twenty-five years at least. Phil wasn't sure about it all, but he figured it was worth meeting her for one session. She promised to give him a recommendation for another therapist if the fit didn't feel right.

The fact that she had a free appointment the next day didn't hurt. 

In person, Dr. Arnadottir was tall, with blond hair in a complicated braid that hung halfway down her back. She was somehow regal without being intimidating, and Phil found himself opening up to her more easily than he expected. After he'd given her the basic outline of what was going on, which took more than half of the appointment time, she regarded him steadily for a moment. 

"What do you want to do?" she asked.

Something about her face, or maybe her voice, gave Phil the confidence to say it out loud. "I want him in my life again. I still want a relationship with him, although I don't know if that's possible. But I want him in my life in whatever way it works."

She nodded slowly. "You want to re-establish a friendship with him and see where it goes."

"Yeah. Yes. I do." It was such a relief to admit it--to himself as much as to her.

"Let's talk about how you might proceed from here," she said, and before he knew it he had a regular appointment set up in his Google calendar.

***  
They started out with letters and emails. Phil was more reserved at first, keeping to the bare bones of his life. He'd tell Clint the latest gossip from the hospital, or what he was going to be teaching that fall. Clint sent back a couple of hand-written pages about the whirlwind of meeting Bobbi and marrying her a week later. 

Phil wondered if Clint might be offended by his reticence, but when Phil emailed him three paragraphs about his new clinical group, Clint responded with a hilarious story from when he was in medic training, then followed it up with a deeply personal description of what it was like to lose most of his hearing.

Phil opened up more after that, telling Clint not only about Henry's ongoing search for the perfect college, but about how it felt, knowing his son was about to leave home. Clint's next email was all about life in Texas once Natasha had redeployed. "I don't do well being alone," Clint wrote. "That's probably why I fell for Bobbi so fast."

Clint's letters were nearly all hand-written and mailed, like the first one had been. Phil kept them in his desk, sorted in chronological order, The first, incredible letter was at the front of the stack, and the others were stacked behind it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd so looked forward to the mail coming. 

A few months after they started corresponding, Phil decided it was time to write a personal letter of his own. 

His was shorter than Clint's--it only took three pages to get from his early childhood through his time in San Francisco, and Clint already knew the basics about Ellie. He spent more time talking about it with Idunn than he did writing the letter, but he was still anxious when he mailed it. He hoped Clint would understand what it meant--even though Phil wasn't entirely sure himself. He pictured Clint smiling when he when he saw it and laughed at himself. He was smiling a lot more these days. 

Phil got a text three days after he mailed the letter from a phone number he didn't recognize, area code 718. _So your dad was an asshole too? Hope Ava & Henry know how lucky they are._

He was in his office when he got the message, a student sitting across from him, looking at the care plan he'd just handed back. "Must be good news," she said when he looked up. "You're smiling."

"I suppose I am," he answered, allowing a little more of the happiness he felt to show. Before he got back to his futile attempt to explain the difference between etiology and support data, he typed out a quick _I think I'm the lucky one. Thanks._

Texts joined their repertoire, but they didn't supplant the letters, just added another layer to their correspondence. By the time they'd been corresponding for a year, they texted or emailed daily, but they still wrote each other letters every week or two.

The three days surrounding Hurricane Sandy were horrible. Phil worried, watched the news reports, and checked his phone constantly. He was teaching, his phone perched on the lectern, when Clint's text finally came in. He actually stopped talking until he could read it: _Safe. No power. More later._

"Sorry for the interruption," he told his class. "I've been waiting to hear from a friend in New York. He's okay, thankfully."

The first time Clint called him, which was right after the power came back on at his Bed-Stuy apartment, Phil felt the same giddiness he had when Clint and Natasha had called that Christmas, six years earlier. Even though he was wearing the latest Stark tech in his ears, Phil knew Clint still wasn't particularly comfortable on the phone.

"It's really good to hear your voice," he said, wondering if Clint could pick up the emotion behind his statement. 

"Yeah, it's good to hear yours, too," Clint replied, and Phil could tell he really meant it. "Hey, what do you think about Skype?"

Phil was in favor. They were soon having long conversations onscreen every Sunday. It was the perfect way to end the week.

They were equals now, two men building something new from the broken foundation of what they'd once shared. Neither one of them brought up exactly what it was they were building, but Phil was pretty sure they were on the same page. 

It was December when he looked at Clint's face on his computer screen and said, "I miss you." He was pretty sure he'd meant to say he missed Henry, who wouldn't return for winter break for another week, but he couldn't find it in him to be sorry for the slip-up.

"I miss you, too," Clint said. 

They stared at each other for a long moment before Clint cleared his throat and said, "I was actually thinking--only if it's okay with you--I was thinking about applying for some jobs back in Chicago. Katie's there now, and you. You're there."

"It's okay with me," Phil said, then immediately wondered what the fuck he was doing. 

"Yeah? Good," Clint said, and when he smiled at Phil, the doubts he thought he should be feeling were swept away by hope.


	6. Outcome Attainment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Client outcomes are achieved by the performance of the nursing interventions in collaboration with other disciplines and the client/family. During this phase the nurse continues to assess the client to determine whether the interventions are effective and the desired outcomes are met. 
> 
> Ackley, B.J. and Ladwig, G. (2014) Nursing diagnosis handbook: an evidence-based guide to planning care (10th edition).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta thanks to Hederahelix, Lyrstzha, and King Touchy. 
> 
> Yes, there is now going to be a chapter 7. Fear not! Chapter 6 is ending right where chapter 6 was always intended to end! It's just that I realized that the stuff that was going to start out the sequel belonged in this story instead, so I'm adding it on as chapter 7 instead of sticking it in the beginning of the sequel. Thematic coherence FTW!
> 
> Spoilers for _Skyfall._ Also, I upped the rating to explicit.
> 
> There's definitely some stuff in here that could trigger folks, especially re: sexual assault issues. If you want more info, check the end notes.
> 
>  **Definitions:**  
>  **Apical:** the heart rate, determined by listening with a stethoscope for a full minute at the apex of the heart  
>  **BUN and creatinine:** kidney function tests (BUN: blood urea nitrogen)  
>  **Census:** the number of patients. Also important is acuity: how acute the patients are, i.e., how much time/care do they require. The higher the census and the higher the acuity, the more staff is needed (at least theoretically).  
>  **CNO:** Chief nursing officer  
>  **Identifiers:** nurses must check at least two identifiers (e.g. asking the patient's name and date of birth or checking the ID number) before giving medications, to assure they are giving the meds to the right patient  
>  **Mixing antibiotics:** antibiotics tend to come up from pharmacy in glass vials containing powder that needs to be mixed into a 50 mL bag before it can be run as a secondary (or "piggyback")--in other words, hooked into the main IV line. There are different types of vials and bags. Some, like Zosyn, connect through a spike that allows the fluid into the bag (and out again when it's mixed).  
>  **Systolic:** the blood pressure during systole (when the heart contracts), signified by the upper number in a blood pressure reading; considered a more accurate indication of perfusion than the diastolic (lower number, indicating pressure between contractions of the heart)  
>  **Therapeutic communication:** a set of techniques for communicating with patients, especially those with mental health issues, in a non-judgmental, therapeutic manner. "Verbalizing the implied" is one such technique.  
>  **Zosyn:** antibiotic composed of piperacillin, a penicillin, and tazobactam, which blocks a mechanism many bacteria use to become resistant to penicillins. It really does take 15-20 minutes to dissolve.

Clint was fiddling with his coffee cup, tapping his pen against the table, and occasionally rubbing the back of his head. It was only a few days after their last conversation, but he'd emailed Phil that morning and set up a time to Skype again. He was obviously anxious about something, and that was making Phil anxious.

 _He's probably changed his mind,_ Phil thought. _Fuck._

He must have let his disappointment show, because Clint looked up, narrowed his eyes, and said, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Phil answered quickly. "It's just…you seem a little on edge. I was wondering what was up."

Clint blew out a breath, frowning. Phil braced himself. He should have expected it; it was stupid to have had all that hope for something that was never going to happen. 

"Kate wants to meet you."

"…what?" Phil said, blinking. That was not at all what he was expecting. He didn't know much about Kate Bishop beyond the basics: Clint had been coaching her in archery for the last three years, and she'd moved to Chicago that fall for college. Why would she want to meet Phil?

Clint sighed and rubbed the back of his neck again. "I'd say it's okay if you don't want to, but it's gonna happen eventually anyway, once I move there. Might as well get it over with."

Phil stared at him.

"I mean, if I move there," Clint added, flushing.

"'When' is good," Phil said, feeling giddy. "I like 'when.'"

Clint smiled. "Good to know."

"I'd be happy to meet Kate," Phil said after they smiled goofily at each other for a moment. "Is there some reason I shouldn't?"

"No," Clint said, shaking his head. "I want you to. It's just…look, Kate's great. She's the most gifted bowman I've ever seen. But she's like nine years old and spoiled rotten."

"I thought she was in college?" Phil said, eyebrows raised, because a line like that was a set-up he couldn't resist.

Clint snorted. "Okay, she's nineteen, not nine. But the point stands. She's a brat."

"Henry's nineteen," Phil reminded him, reminding himself in the process. "I'm familiar with the breed."

"Katie's one of a kind," Clint said, sounding like he was describing some sort of natural disaster. "All that said, is it okay if I give her your contact info?"

"It's fine," Phil assured him. "I look forward to meeting her."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Clint said. 

"Hi, Clint!" Ava said from behind Phil. He hadn't even heard her come into the room.

Clint's face lit up. "Hi, Ava!" he said. It was the first time she'd acknowledged his existence during one of their conversations. 

"Dad's got to go," she informed the two of them. "We've got cookies to make. Bye!" She shut the window and closed Phil's laptop.

"That was rude," Phil told her, but he had difficulty maintaining a stern expression. 

"Is Clint your boyfriend?" Ava asked. "For real this time?"

Phil coughed. "He…it's complicated, honey. We're friends, but once he moves here--"

"He's moving here? When?" she interrupted, frowning. 

"After he finds a job," Phil said. 

"Well, he'd better not be a jerk again," she said. "I remember how depressed you were when he left the last time. You tell him I've got my eye on him. Now come on--that dough's not gonna make itself."

"Yes, ma'am," Phil said, wrapping his arm around her and giving her a squeeze. She tolerated it for a moment before pulling away. 

"Cookies," she reminded him.

***  
He was in his office on the last day of classes, just finishing up proofreading the final exam, when there was a knock on his door. "Come in," he called out, turning the exam face down and putting it on his desk.

The young woman who opened the door was slender but athletic, with long dark hair and blue eyes. She was dressed in a lavender day dress that highlighted her shoulders, a purple peacoat draped over one arm, a matching handbag on the other. There was a purple beret perched just so on her head. 

He'd never seen her before. City College students tended more toward Target than Kate Spade. (Yes, Phil knew who Kate Spade was. He admired Tim Gunn's teaching style tremendously--he and Ava had been watching _Project Runway_ since early in its run--and between that and having a teenaged daughter, he'd picked up a few things.)

"Can I help you?" he asked the (very well-dressed) young woman politely.

"So you're Phil," she said. 

"I am," Phil agreed. "And you are?" The way she was looking at him, she clearly expected him to know already.

"Kate," she said. "Did Clint forget to tell you I was coming?"

"No, of course not," Phil said, standing and offering his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Bishop." The purple clothing should have been his first clue. She must have picked that habit up from Clint.

She shook perfunctorily, looking around the office. She went over to his desk and picked up the picture Natasha had taken of him and Clint at the pinning ceremony, the one Phil had never been able to throw out. "Clint has this one on his desk, too," she said. "You two are going to be insufferable together."

Phil's ears felt warm. "Clint said you were at Northwestern--how are you liking it?" he asked.

Kate shrugged. "It's okay. The archery coach sucks, though. Don't tell Clint."

"Your secret's safe with me," Phil promised. "I'm just about done for the day. Would you like to get a cup of coffee?"

The look she gave Phil was one of vague boredom, but he thought he could detect actual interest in her eyes. "Okay," she said. "Only not futzing Starbucks. And you're buying."

"Of course," Phil said, a small smile on his face. 

By the time they'd worked their way through two coffees and some sub-par baked goods ("Clint's scones are better," she said, and he readily agreed), he felt like he had at least a little bit of a handle on Kate Bishop. She was whip-smart, confident, trying to make up for her privileged upbringing, and had a hefty amount of Daddy issues. Phil figured he could work with that.

"I get why he likes you," she said as she got into her car. "He's right about your eyes."

"My eyes?" Phil asked, bewildered. What was Clint doing talking to Kate about his eyes, of all things? 

She got ready to close the door. "He said you had the kindest eyes he'd ever seen." She drove off before Phil could think of an appropriate response.

***  
Ever since Hurricane Sandy, they'd had a regular Skype appointment every Sunday at 3 pm. His friends and his kids knew about it, and on the rare occasions when one or the other of them wasn't available, they rescheduled, usually for Saturday. It was the highlight of Phil's week.

That day in December when Phil told Clint he missed him had been the latest in a series of watershed moments in their redeveloping relationship. Now, instead of every weekend, Phil and Clint Skyped every few days, and their already frequent texts grew even more frequent. They talked about job options--much as Phil wanted him in Chicago as soon as possible, he encouraged Clint to wait for something more suited to his experience than a simple staff job--and discussed the various graduate programs Clint was considering applying for. 

Neither one of them had ever brought up the question of what, exactly, they were doing. Phil suspected they were both afraid of jinxing it. Their non-discussion didn't feel fraught, though there was a thread of impatience underneath all their conversations. 

Clint sent Phil a limited edition Green Arrow action figure for Christmas, with a note that said, "Merry Christmas from your favorite hearing impaired nurse/archery coach." Phil sent Clint a Hawkeye poster he'd tracked down on Ebay, lovingly framed. It announced "Hawkeye: The World's Greatest Marksman!" in garish red letters. The red clashed with the purple uniform a young but recognizable Clint was wearing.

"I can't believe you found that poster," Clint said that evening. "I'm not sure if I should be flattered or horrified."

"Let's go with flattered," Phil said, laughing. "You were pretty cute back then. How old were you when that was shot?"

Clint looked away, presumably at the poster, his expression unreadable. "I was nineteen. Carson had them made right after I came back, along with the new uniform."

Phil still didn't know all of the details concerning Clint's leaving the circus permanently, but he knew it happened less than a year after his return. "I'm sorry," Phil said. "I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories."

"Phil, it's okay," Clint said. "I don't think anyone's ever gone to that much trouble to find me a gift, and I have a lot of good memories from the circus, too. Thank you."

"I have something else for you," Phil said, probably more nervous than the situation warranted. "I filled in for a couple of shifts this week, and when I went down to the ER for a code, I heard that the nurse manager is leaving after the first of the year. It's pretty sudden--I think her husband got a new job or something--so they're hoping to find someone quickly. I gave her your resume. I hope that was okay."

"Okay?" Clint said, grinning broadly. "Phil, that's fucking fantastic! Do you know who I should follow up with?"

Phil nodded and texted Clint the names of the people on the search committee. The next time he checked his work email, there was a message waiting indicating that Clint Barton had listed him as a reference. Phil knew that the hospital's online application form asked for both professional and personal references. Clint had put him down under the personal category.

***  
Phil tried to surreptitiously check his phone again without the student in front of him noticing. The last text he'd gotten from Clint had been after lunch, just before his last set of interviews. Knowing that Clint was in the same building somewhere, but not having had the chance to see him yet, was driving Phil absolutely nuts.

"What about the labs?" he asked his student. Phil wasn't sure how a guy who was both Scottish and brilliant ended up at a community college in Chicago, but he hoped Leo's book knowledge would start to translate into clinical skill sooner rather than later.

"Labs?" Leo asked and reached for his clipboard. "Right, labs. The potassium's 4.5, so that's good, and the BUN and creatinine are normal." Phil tried not to find Leo's brogue charming, but it was impossible. The kid was just plain adorable, as was his attached-at-the-hip best friend, Jemma. It was only the third week of the semester, but Phil could already tell these two were going to be the stars of his clinical group. Their only problem seemed to be their enthusiasm, which sometimes got ahead of their actual skill.

"Good," Phil said. He started to ask about the blood pressure, but there was Clint, walking down the hallway toward him, _finally._

"Sir?" Leo said. "I checked the BP and the apical, and they're good. 142 systolic, pulse 73."

"Great," Phil said, patting him on the shoulder without looking away from Clint, who was watching Phil with a soft smile on his face. "You can go ahead and give your meds. I'll check with you later, okay? Don't forget to check your identifiers." He walked away without hearing Leo's response.

"Hey," Clint said when Phil walked up to him. 

"Hi," Phil responded, stopping just short of arm's length. "Come on, let's go to the conference room."

Clint looked puzzled, so Phil jerked his head at the hallway behind him, where several of his students were visible. Clint's expression cleared, and he nodded. "Sure. Lead on."

They were at the door when Clint said, "So, a few minutes ago they told me they were gonna check my references, and that I should expect an offer by Friday."

Phil grabbed him by the arm and opened the door with his free hand. "Get over here," he said as soon as they were inside. "That's _great,_ Clint."

They fell into each other's arms, and everything else disappeared. All Phil knew was the woodsy scent of Clint's aftershave, the warmth of his cheek, pressed up against Phil's, the utter and complete sense of rightness he felt. He took a deep, shaky breath. 

" _Phil,"_ Clint murmured, "it's really happening."

"Mmmhmm," Phil said. He wanted to kiss Clint-- _God,_ how he wanted to--but the conference room, while less public than the hallway, wasn't exactly private, and he wasn't sure it was the right time or place for their first kiss. They hadn't even talked about any of it yet.

Neither one of them said anything else for a minute or so. They didn't move, either, other than small shifts of their hands on each other's backs and the movement of their chests as they breathed.

Then Phil's cell phone went off.

Phil pulled back just enough to fish his phone out of his coat pocket. "This is Phil."

"Hello, Phil, sir, this is Jemma. I have that 1800 Zosyn, and I was wondering when you'd be available to hang it with me?"

"Have you got it mixing?" Phil asked. Clint smirked at him. He mouthed, "What?" in response.

Clint pointed at Phil's cell phone, his eyebrows going up comically, and stage whispered, "You gave your _students_ your phone number, Phil?"

"Mixing, sir?" Jemma said. Phil gave Clint a stern look and held his finger up to his mouth for a second.

"Remember what I said in orientation?" he asked Jemma. Clint was laughing silently into Phil's shoulder, his arms still tight around Phil's waist. It made Phil unspeakably happy. "Zosyn can take fifteen or twenty minutes to dissolve. Ask your nurse to help you get it mixing, and I'll be down to check on you shortly." 

"Of course, sir," Jemma said. "I'm sorry to bother you, but Fitz asked if I could remind you about his IV start. I think his nurse wants it in sooner rather than later."

"Tell him to get his equipment ready and go assess the patient to find a good vein," Phil instructed. Jemma and Leo were closer than any students he'd had since Clint and Natasha. They also, for some unknown reason, referred to each other almost exclusively by last name. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Sorry," he said, putting his hand on the back of Clint's neck.

"It's okay," Clint said, lifting his head and meeting Phil's gaze. "I have to go soon anyway. They're taking me out to dinner."

"Okay," Phil said reluctantly. "What time is your flight tomorrow?"

"It's at eight," Clint said. "I wish I could stick around longer, believe me."

"I understand," Phil said. "Did they tell you when they wanted you to start?"

"As soon as possible, they said," Clint answered. "I'm thinking mid-February should be doable."

"That's just a month from now," Phil said. He felt like his whole world had just opened up into something new and amazing. 

"Yeah," Clint said, smiling at him. "Four weeks, more or less."

"Hey, Phil--oh, sorry," Janet said as she stepped into the room. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's okay," Phil said, stepping back from Clint. "What do you need?"

"Nothing," she said, her cheeks pink. "Just came in here to get some peace and quiet to work on the schedule." She probably intended to call her boyfriend.

"We'll leave you to it," Phil said, gesturing for Clint to precede him out the door. They were barely down the hallway before Jemma came up to them.

"Oh, hello. Sorry, sir, I know you said you'd be down in a minute," she said, looking Clint up and down in what she probably thought was a surreptitious manner. 

"What can I do for you, Jemma?" Phil asked with a patience he didn't entirely feel. What he _could_ feel was Clint smirking next to him. He didn't need to see his face to know.

"It's only that I couldn't find my nurse," Jemma said. "I think she's at dinner, and I'm not sure which bag I need to mix the Zosyn in." She held up one of each kind of the fifty milliliter saline bags that were designed for mixing IV medications.

"This one," Clint said, reaching for the correct bag and demonstrating. "Peel this off, pop the lid of the Zosyn, screw it into the spike--you'll have to push hard to get it engaged; don't be afraid to use the door--and then break this seal. Then you can squeeze the saline into the vial. And don't forget to scrub the top first," he added, winking at her.

"Thank you," Jemma said, staring at Clint in awe. Phil couldn't blame her--Clint was in a suit again, this one dark grey, with a pale lavender shirt and a black tie. He looked amazing.

"Jemma, this is my friend, Clint Barton," he said. "Clint, this is one of my students, Jemma Simmons. And that one is Leo Fitz," he added, as Leo came up behind Jemma.

"I hope you two know you've got the best clinical instructor in the city," Clint told them. "He whipped my ass into shape way back when I was a student, many moons ago."

"Your ass has always been in fine shape," Phil said. "It was your care plans that required work." Then he realized what he'd said and felt his face flush bright red.

Clint let out a surprised bark of a laugh, while Jemma and Leo looked away. Jemma was trying to hide the fact that she was giggling, and Leo looked like he was close to joining her. So much for maintaining professorial dignity.

Phil was saved from any further embarrassment when Clint's phone rang. It was the CNO calling, apparently; after Clint hung up he said he had to get downstairs to meet her.

"I'll walk you to the elevator," Phil said. When they got there, he pulled Clint into a quick hug again, this one more of a collegial back-slapping than the full on embrace he'd have preferred. "Text me later--let me know how dinner went."

"I will," Clint promised. "And I'll text you when I land tomorrow. Skype tomorrow night?"

"It's a date," Phil said.

Clint smiled and nodded. "I'll see you in a few weeks," he said, and then he was stepping into the elevator. He looked at Phil all the way until the doors closed.

Phil stood there for a moment, trying to get his bearings. He took a couple of deep breaths and focused before turning to walk back towards his students.

***  
"But, Dad, you promised," Ava said, her voice just short of a whine. "So what if Clint is going to get here that weekend--he'll be here all the _time_ after that, and the ski trip only happens once a year!"

"Precisely," Phil said. "Once a year. Which means we can go next year. Or I can take you in a couple of weeks, even." He'd really been hoping Clint would arrive a week earlier, as he'd originally planned, but it hadn't worked out.

It was maybe not terrible that Clint wouldn't be there for Valentine's Day, anyway. He'd mentioned to Phil, deliberately off-hand, that his and Bobbi's divorce had been finalized on February 14, 2011.

"Is that the way it's going to be, then?" Ava said to him. "Now that your _boyfriend_ is coming to town, I'm no longer a priority?" From the expression on her face, Phil could tell she was well aware of how manipulative she was being, but it wasn't stopping her.

"That's not fair, Ava," he snapped. "You know you and your brother have _always_ been my top priority."

She deflated a bit at that, but she didn't give up. "It's a father-daughter ski trip," she said, her shoulders set. "It wouldn't be the same any other weekend. And you don't _know_ they'll do it again. This could be the last year. It could be our last chance to go. Besides, you said Clint's friend Kate was going to help him move in."

Phil rubbed his nose and suppressed a sigh. He never would have made Ava that promise if he'd known about Clint's move to Chicago. Still, he'd never broken a promise to his kids, and he didn't intend to start now. It sucked, but there wasn't really any choice. "Fine," he said. "We'll go."

"I'm really sorry," he said to Clint on Skype a few days later. "I wish the ski trip was a different weekend, but Ava's really been looking forward to it, and I did promise her."

"Hey, I get it," Clint said, although he looked disappointed. "You'll be back on Monday?"

"That's the plan," Phil said. "Do you know what you'll be doing Tuesday? I've got clinical day shift, but we could meet up after."

Clint shook his head. "I'll be stuck in orientation all day, and then I'm going to the range with Katie. It's the only time during the week that we're both free. You're not the only one who made a promise."

"Well, shit," Phil said, frustrated. "I've got clinical on Wednesday evening. What about Thursday? Could we at least meet for lunch or coffee or something?" Thursday nights were for _Dog Cops_ with Ava, which Clint knew already. 

"Coffee would work," Clint said after a moment. His mouth was tight.

"Oh, fuck," Phil said, as his brain caught up with his mouth. "Clint…"

"Phil, we can have coffee," Clint said firmly. "It's not like either one of us stopped drinking it. As long as we don't go to Nightcap, it'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Phil asked. "I don't know, we could meet at the hospital cafeteria--"

"Let's not," Clint said. "How's the Starbucks just off campus sound?"

"That'll work," Phil said. "If you're sure--"

"I'm sure," Clint said firmly.

"Okay," Phil said. "I'll try to get down to the ER during clinical so I can at least say hi. And, uh, I have Friday off. I was thinking you could come over for dinner, maybe go to a movie after."

"That sounds wonderful," Clint said, his eyes losing their pinched look. 

"Ava's going to sleep over at her friend Michaela's house," Phil added, hesitant. "She'll be with us for dinner, though."

"Good to know," Clint said after a beat. Phil couldn't read his expression. It wasn't angry, at least, but maybe Phil should have kept his damned mouth shut.

"How's the packing going?" he asked, keeping his voice light.

"It's fine, I guess," Clint said, shrugging. "The movers will do most of it. It's nice, the hospital giving me a moving allowance. Makes me feel _special."_

Clint smirked, Phil snorted a laugh, and everything was back to normal.

***  
"Can I ask you a question?" Idunn said.

Phil repressed his usual desire to snark that yes or no questions weren't considered appropriate for therapeutic communication and said, "Go ahead."

"Have you considered asking Clint what kind of relationship he expects to develop with you?"

Phil sighed. "Considered, yes. And I know I'll have to, once he's here."

Idunn stayed silent until he spoke again. "If you're wondering if I'm scared of what he'll say, you're right; I am. I've spent the last year and a half hoping--fantasizing--that he'd move here, that we'd be together, that I'd finally have the relationship I've always wanted."

"It's safer to keep it in the realm of fantasy," Idunn said. 

_Verbalizing the implied,_ Phil thought. "Yes. Having him here means the end of the fantasy, one way or the other. And there's a very real possibility that all he wants is friendship." He fiddled with his tie. "Not that I don't want his friendship, because I do. Like I told you at our first meeting, I want him in my life in whatever way I can get."

"It's okay to want more, Phil," Idunn said gently. 

Phil wasn't sure if that counted as textbook therapeutic communication, but it struck something deep inside him, so it probably meant something. Which he put aside to think about later, because it had to be almost time for the end of the session. 

"He'll be here next week," he said instead. "I'm not sure how I'll be able to get through the skiing weekend with Ava. I know she's really excited about it."

The skiing trip was a safe subject, so he stuck with that until she said their time was up. She didn't call him on it, which he appreciated.

The trip itself was fine. No one was injured, no one was caught drinking, and everyone seemed to have a decent time. Unfortunately, they were caught in a white-out on the way home and didn't arrive until late Monday night. Phil had to have Ava answer a couple of worried texts from Clint during the drive, but once they made it to the house, he got on the phone to let Clint know they were okay.

"If this keeps up, they may cancel school tomorrow," he said. The temperature had barely gotten above five degrees all day, and it was rapidly dropping to a predicted low of fifteen below. That combined with an expected sixteen to eighteen inches of snow on top of the twelve they'd already gotten was more than even the city of Chicago could easily deal with. "Is the heat okay in your building?"

"Yeah, we're good," Clint said. "Lucky's not too happy, though."

"No, I'm sure he isn't," Phil said. "Listen, I've got to get to bed, but hopefully I'll see you at the hospital on Wednesday?"

"I'll be there," Clint answered. "Stay safe, okay?"

"You too."

There ended up being much less snow accumulation than predicted, so Phil had to get up early, as usual, to meet his students for clinical. It was a long, busy day--the census was high and the staffing low, so the nurses were frustrated by anything that took extra effort, including working with second semester students. Phil was used to nurses asking why it took so long for students to give meds, or why they had to wait for him, but there was an unpleasant undertone to practically every interaction he had with the staff that day. By the time he got home, all he wanted to do was take a nap, but instead he had to take Ava to her cello lesson and pick up groceries. 

"I think I talked to you more before I moved here," Clint said over Skype that evening. 

Phil sighed. "I know. We're still on for Thursday, right? And Friday? Because I'm really looking forward to it."

"Absolutely," Clint said. "But, Phil, you look like shit. Go to bed already. Get some sleep."

"I'll make sure to stop by the ER tomorrow," Phil promised, yawning. 

"See you then," Clint said. "Sleep well."

Phil did sleep well, but that was about the only thing that worked out the next day. His plan to get to the hospital early was thwarted by a traffic jam, and when he went down to the ER during his dinner break, Clint was in the middle of a code. Phil caught his eye briefly, and Clint gave him an apologetic shrug before getting back to his patient. By the time clinical was over, Clint had gone home.

 _I swear we will see each other tomorrow,_ Phil texted as he walked out to his car. 

_4 @ Starbucks. Be there or I will hunt you down,_ Clint responded. 

When Jemma knocked on his door at 3:30 on Thursday afternoon, Phil had had enough. He was supposed to be out of there at three. "I'm sorry, Jemma, but I don't have time to talk to you right now," he said, ushering her away from the door so he could lock it. "I can see you during office hours on Monday."

She didn't look upset, and he'd already spent half an hour with her the week before. She was a very enthusiastic student, and she always wanted to talk to him about how things were going or ask him in-depth questions about whatever they were studying that week. "Okay, I'll see you then," she said.

 _Thank God,_ Phil thought as he stashed his briefcase in his car. His major work responsibilities were mostly done for the week; he just had homework to grade before Monday. 

Phil's heart was pounding as he approached the Starbucks where they were meeting. He was almost afraid his hands were going to shake when he opened the door, but when he looked through the window and saw Clint standing in line, he let go of a fear he had never acknowledged. Clint was here, and Clint was safe. It was 2013, not 2006.

Clint turned and caught his eye as he walked in. As soon as he saw Phil, he smiled, warm and happy, a smile Phil found himself gladly returning. They hugged for a shorter time than Phil thought either of them wanted, mindful of the crowd. "I've got this; why don't you find us some seats?" Clint asked when they drew apart. 

"Not sure I want to lose sight of you for that long," Phil said, more truth to the words than he was comfortable admitting. 

Clint chuckled and squeezed his hip. "So find somewhere you can still see me. How about over there?" he asked, nodding his head at an unoccupied couch in the corner.

"Perfect," Phil said, and hurried off to stake his claim before anyone else got there.

He was happily watching Clint put in their order (good God, his ass in those scrubs) when he heard someone say his name. It was one of his colleagues, which was only slightly better than running into one of his students. They should have picked somewhere further from campus. 

"Oh, hi, John," he said, standing up politely. He didn't move so that he could still see Clint, even though he wanted to.

"Hey, Phil," John said, smiling brightly. "Mind if I join you?"

"Uh, actually, I'm here with someone," Phil said, nodding his head towards the counter. "Some other time?"

"Sure," John said, his expression dimming. "Is it anyone I know?"

"I don't think so," Phil said, feeling uncomfortable. Lorraine kept telling him John was interested in him. Phil had always laughed it off, but maybe it was true. "Hey," he said as Clint appeared and handed him one of the cups he was carrying, immediately putting the hand he'd freed up on the small of Phil's back. 

"Hey," Clint said, his voice warm and fond. Phil got caught up in his eyes for a moment, until John cleared his throat.

"Sorry--John, this is Clint Barton," Phil said. "He's the new nurse manager at Sinai's ER. Clint, this is John Tillett. He teaches psych with us."

"Nice to meet you," Clint said, moving his hand from Phil's back to shake John's. Phil felt the loss acutely and was relieved when Clint immediately put it back after the handshake. "Sorry to be rude, but Phil and I have a lot of catching up to do, so…."

"Sure, of course," John said, stepping away. 

"That was okay, wasn't it?" Clint asked as they sat down. 

"It was great," Phil assured him. "John's a nice guy, but it's you I want to spend time with."

Clint gave him that smile again, and Phil smiled back again, and they just stayed there for a few seconds. _So this is what it feels like to be in love,_ Phil thought, then tried not to panic.

"What's wrong?" Clint asked, putting the hand that wasn't (still) at the small of his back on his arm. 

Phil looked down, embarrassed. "I guess I keep expecting something to happen," he said. "It can't be this easy."

Clint snorted. "I'd hardly call this easy. It's taken us years to get here."

"That's not what I meant, though," Phil said. "I mean now. Being with you. It doesn't feel complicated or difficult. It's easy."

The smile came back. "Yeah." Clint moved his hand slowly down Phil's arm, giving him time to pull away. Phil stayed still, and when Clint's hand reached for his, he reached back. "It is easy," Clint said softly, interlocking their fingers. 

"Easy," Phil repeated, just as soft. 

"So, just so we're clear," Clint said after a moment. "This is a date, right?"

Phil nodded, his heart thumping in his chest. "It is."

"And tomorrow night, that's a date, too?"

Phil squeezed his hand. "Absolutely."

"Good," Clint said and slouched back against the couch cushion, his thigh pressing against Phil's. He was still holding Phil's hand. "Glad we cleared that up."

Phil huffed a laugh, relieved. It really was easy, so much easier than he'd feared. "Me too. So tell me, how's life in the salt mines?"

Talking about work, about how their week was going, was different when they were sitting next to each other instead of facing their computer screens. Phil sometimes spoke directly into Clint's ear, instead of making sure his face was clearly visible, and he could smell Clint's aftershave when he did. Having Clint focus his attention, and his incredible eyes, directly on Phil was a heady thing, but it was still easy. 

Phil wasn't sure how much time had passed when his phone started playing Lady Gaga. "It's Ava," he said, but Clint just shook his head and laughed.

"Hey, honey, what's up?" he asked. He'd had to let go of Clint's hand to fish the phone out of his pocket, but when he sat back, Clint put his arm around Phil's shoulder and pulled him closer. God, that concrete evidence that Clint was actually here, that this was actually happening, felt so good.

"Where _are_ you?" Ava demanded. "It's 5:30! When are you coming home, and are you bringing dinner?"

"Did you happen to look at the note on the fridge?" Phil asked, suppressing a sigh. "The one that reminds you that," he hesitated for a split second, then went ahead. "That I had a date with Clint this afternoon?"

There was silence for a moment, then, "That was _today?_ I thought it was on Thursday."

"Ava, it _is_ Thursday," Phil said, rubbing his forehead. "Go ahead and order some pizza, and I'll pick it up on my way home."

"Okay," Ava said. "Dad?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Are you still on your date? Are you having a good time?"

"Yes, I am, to both questions. I'll see you in a while, okay?"

"Okay," she said. "Tell Clint hi."

"Will do. Love you."

"Love you too," she said. These days it was a crapshoot whether she'd say it back or completely ignore it, so Phil took a second to appreciate her words.

"Ava says hi," he informed Clint, burrowing further under Clint's arm. "I'm gonna have to get going."

"Mmmhmm," Clint said, although neither of them moved. "Come on, then, on your feet," he said after a few minutes.

Phil allowed Clint to pull him up and took the opportunity to lean into him. "Walk me to my car?"

"Couldn't stop me if you tried," Clint said, grinning at him. 

"I guess it's a good thing I'm not trying, then," Phil said, reaching for his coat.

They talked about timing for the next evening as they walked, close enough that their arms brushed together with every stride. When they got to the car, Phil went to open the door, and Clint said, "Hold on a minute."

"Okay," Phil said, and turned towards him. 

Clint stepped closer, close enough that Phil could feel his breath puffing against his face. "So, this was officially a date, right?" he said. "Our first date."

Phil nodded. He was leaning against the car, his hands on Clint's hips. 

"Where I come from, it's pretty much expected that after a first date, especially one that went well, you should kiss," Clint said, and moved in, tilting his head. 

His lips were cold and a little chapped, the kiss gentle and tentative at first. Phil put his hand on Clint's cheek and opened his mouth just enough to pull Clint's lower lip between his. Clint made a soft sound and then they were kissing in earnest, tongues deep in each other's mouths. 

Someone somewhere called out, "Get a room!" good-naturedly, and they pulled apart, laughing.

"I have wanted to do that for years," Clint said. "I'm really looking forward to doing it again."

"So am I," Phil said, brushing his thumb against Clint's mouth. "Like, say, tomorrow."

"Yeah," Clint said. "So, I should just come over after work?"

"Any time after four is fine," Phil confirmed. 

"I'll have to stop off at home first," Clint said. "I should probably be there around 4:30. I can bring some bread, or maybe dessert?"

"Either would be great," Phil said. 

They stood there another moment. Then Clint nodded and said, "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow." He kissed Phil again, this time just a quick brush of his lips, and pulled away. 

Phil sat in the car for a minute with the engine running, ignoring the soft murmur of All Things Considered in the background. He rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes. " _Wow,"_ he said. 

He barely noticed the traffic on the expressway or the puddle he stepped in at the pizza place. When he walked into the house, Ava took one look at his face and said, "Your date was good, huh?"

"It was," Phil agreed. He couldn't stop smiling if he tried. "How was school? Did you get your geometry test back?"

"I got a ninety-two," Ava said. "School was fine. Come on, I'm hungry, and we need to eat before _Dog Cops."_

Normally Phil found _Dog Cops_ mesmerizing, but that night he found it difficult to focus on anything other than thoughts of Clint--of Clint kissing him, of Clint coming to this house, of what might happen. He resolutely refused to examine the idea that he might legitimately call his feelings for Clint "love." It was too early for that. 

Even as he reminded himself of that, he knew better--he'd loved Clint for years. Still, loving someone wasn't the same as being _in_ love with them. It really was too early for that.

Ava gave him a few suspicious looks when he didn't respond to the show as he normally did, but she apparently didn't find it necessary to give him much of a hard time about it. He figured she was going easy on him. He also figured he might as well appreciate it while it was happening, since who knew when it would happen again. Ava at fifteen was more of a mystery than her brother had been at that age. 

She looked so much like Ellie that it made Phil's heart ache. "You would have been proud," he said to Ellie's picture after Ava had gone to bed. "I wish you could see her now. I wish you could meet Clint." 

As he lay in bed, he tried to picture it in his mind. What _would_ Ellie have thought of Clint? She'd have been happy for him, he knew that without a doubt, but she'd always been fiercely protective of Phil, always the big sister, even more after he came to live with her. She might have had a hard time forgiving Clint for what he'd done years before--not so much that she wouldn't have been supportive, but it might have affected how she felt about Clint personally.

Then again, knowing Clint, he'd have spent nearly as much time and energy earning her forgiveness as he had Phil's. He was a good man, and Ellie would have seen that. 

He fell asleep fantasizing about introducing the two of them. In a perfect world, he would have dreamed of Ellie giving him her blessing. Instead, he dreamed that a blizzard stranded Clint on the road somewhere, and that Phil was looking for him but couldn't find him in the snow. It took him until after Ava left for school to shake the dream off. 

He spent the morning and early afternoon keeping himself busy with chores. He changed the sheets on his bed and allowed himself a brief moment to imagine sharing it with Clint. He went grocery shopping and picked up an extra toothbrush along with everything else. The house was clean already--Phil had never been able to tolerate mess--but he vacuumed and scrubbed anyway. 

The only chore he wasn't able to accomplish was grading care plans. He opened up the first student's folder and stared blankly at the data, but he couldn't focus; sitting still only led to more thoughts of Clint, sitting on the couch next to him, kissing him. He got up and went into the garage to bring some wood in. They might want a fire later. 

He might see Clint in the firelight, skin golden and eyes warm. 

He gave himself a shake and got up again. He'd start the stew and make the salad. After that, it would be time to take a shower and change.

When Ava got home, he was standing in his closet (thankfully with his bathrobe on; he did not need his daughter to see him in his underwear), at a loss. "Geez, Dad, you're helpless," she said, handing him a hanger. "These jeans and your black shirt."

"Thanks, kiddo," Phil said, ducking his head in embarrassment. He usually had no problem picking out clothes--Tony'd referred to him as "Nurse-GQ" once, and some of his co-workers still called him that--but this was different. This was Clint. If Ava hadn't been there, he probably would have ended up calling Darcy.

"Dad?" Ava asked, sounding a lot less certain.

"What is it, honey?" he asked, turning to face her.

"You really like Clint, don't you?" she asked, with all the earnestness a fifteen-year-old girl could muster. "It's not like when you were dating that cop guy. You're, like, in love with him."

This was not a conversation Phil wanted to have while standing in his closet wearing a bathrobe, but he'd long since learned the futility of trying to control such things. "I care for him a great deal," he told her, watching her face. "I wouldn't invite him over here otherwise. It's a little scary, actually--I don't know how the two of you are going to get along."

Ava nodded solemnly. "He sounds like a cool guy," she said. "Don't worry--I'll give him the benefit of the doubt."

"I appreciate that," Phil said, giving in to the impulse to pull her into his arms. "You know you'll always be my number one girl, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ava grumbled, but she was smiling when he let go.

By 4:15 Phil was nearly as anxious as he'd been the day before. The stew was simmering, the salad made; he'd even set the table already, unwilling to wait for Ava to get around to it. He was in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water, when the doorbell rang a few minutes later.

"I'll get it!" Ava called from the living room. Phil took a deep breath, put his glass on the counter, and walked out of the kitchen.

"Look what Clint brought!" Ava pointed at the plastic container Clint was holding, and Phil laughed, most of his anxiety gone in a flash.

"That looks familiar," he said, reaching to take it from Clint's hands. Feeling bold, he leaned in and kissed Clint. "Hi."

"Hey," Clint answered, his cheeks flushing. "It's not scones--it's brownies. I hope that's all right."

"Of course it's all right," Phil assured him. "If you baked them, I know they're going to be fantastic."

Ava grabbed the container out of Phil's hands and opened it, the smell of chocolate suffusing the air around them. "Oh my God, these look _amazing,"_ she said. "Dad, can I have one now?"

"Not before dinner," Phil said, although he was tempted to eat one himself. 

"Anything I can do to help?" Clint asked, shrugging out of his coat.

"Everything's pretty much done," Phil said. "We've got to get Ava to the movie theater by 7:15, so I thought we'd eat a little before six, if that's not too early for you."

"Six is good," Clint said. "Any time is fine. I didn't really get a lunch break today."

"We could eat earlier," Phil offered. "Let's go for 5:30."

Phil could feel Ava rolling her eyes behind him. "I'll put these in the kitchen," she said. "You two, sit. Don't worry, Dad, I won't eat one. Yet."

Clint smothered a laugh behind his hand as she walked away. "How old is she again?"

"Fifteen," Phil said. "Which means sometimes she acts like she's eight, and sometimes like she's thirty. Keeps me on my toes."

"I can see that," Clint said, sitting down on the couch. 

Phil sat next to him, close enough to touch. Clint took his hand, just as he had the day before. "You look great," Phil said, admiring the way the grey henley stretched to contain Clint's broad shoulders and showed a little of his well-muscled chest.

"So do you," Clint said, looking him up and down. "You always do, but I have to say I really like you in jeans."

Phil was saved from responding when Ava returned bearing a tray. "I figured you liked coffee, too," she said to Clint, looking down, almost shy. "I don't know how you take it, though." The creamer and sugar pot from Ellie's china were on the tray, along with two steaming mugs of coffee. Phil's had just the right amount of cream in it. Ava was going all out, and Phil wasn't sure he'd ever loved her more.

"Thank you," Clint said, taking the second mug. "But, Ava, can I ask you a favor?"

"I guess," Ava said, sounding like a normal teenager again.

"I don't know if your dad told you, but I'm deaf," Clint said. "I can hear okay with my hearing aids in, mostly, but higher-pitched sounds are tough. So it's more difficult to understand your voice than your dad's. It would help a lot if you would look at me when you talk, so I can read your lips."

"Oh!" Ava said, eyes wide. "That's so cool!"

" _Ava,"_ Phil said, but Clint looked amused rather than upset, so maybe it was okay.

"No, I'm sorry, but, just, do you know sign?" Ava asked, her hands moving expressively, as if she had her own version of the language. He hadn't seen her this excited since she discovered Justin Bieber. Fortunately that obsession hadn't lasted long, but you never knew with Ava.

"I do," Clint confirmed, with both his voice and his hands in what appeared to Phil to be a fluent display of ASL. "I'm not that great at it, but I learned when I first lost my hearing. It comes in handy sometimes." There was beauty in the way Clint's hands were moving, his long fingers graceful and fluid.

"Will you teach me?" Ava asked. 

"Ava," Phil said again, but Clint put his hand on Phil's arm.

"I think I have some videos at home you could borrow," he said. "Uh, but they're tapes, so they won't work if you don't have a VCR."

"We still have one," Ava said. Ellie had made tapes for the kids before she died. Phil kept meaning to take them in to the school's AV department to transfer onto DVD, but he hadn't done so yet. "But will you teach me?"

Clint looked at Phil for a moment. Whatever he saw in Phil's face must have satisfied him, because he nodded, one corner of his mouth going up. "Sure, Ava. I'd be happy to."

The next hour was taken up by Clint patiently finger-spelling the alphabet, teaching them a few basic signs, and giving them an overview of basic ASL grammar, which was more complex than Phil had realized. Ava picked it up fairly easily, but Phil felt as clumsy as an ox. Still, when he haltingly signed, "Hi, Clint," the smile that accompanied Clint's, "Hi, Phil," was breathtaking.

Learning sign language and eating dinner weren't exactly compatible, but Ava asked Clint about archery, and that kept the conversation lively through dessert. The brownies were predictably delicious, and Phil had to promise Ava he'd save some for her to eat the next day.

"I thought we'd see _The Hobbit,"_ Phil said as they put their coats on. "Does that work for you?"

"Sure, that sounds great," Clint said. "Ava, what are you and your friends going to see? The new Twilight movie?"

"Ewww, _gross,"_ Ava said. "The sexual politics in those books are _horrible."_

Phil suppressed a laugh. They'd spent ten days in DC a few years back, and Ava had made the mistake of asking Natasha to buy her the first book in the series. He'd had to talk her out of buying Ava _Our Bodies, Ourselves_ instead--they'd ended up compromising with _Changing Bodies, Changing Lives._

"Okay," Clint said, holding his hands up. "I didn't know that. I haven't read them."

"She's not even a good _writer,"_ Ava said, getting into the car. "We're going to see _Les Mis."_

"It'll be her third time," Phil told Clint, grimacing a little. "Once was enough for me."

"Don't forget to pre-order the bluray for me on Amazon," Ava said. "You promised."

The rest of the ride to the theater was taken up with Ava listing all the movies that Clint needed to watch that they owned on bluray or DVD. Phil admired the way Clint gamely sat there and listened to Ava, turned half-way round in the front seat so he could see her face as she laid out her exact ranking of the various Star Trek movies, then went on to do the same for Star Wars. She'd moved on to television shows by the time they pulled into the parking lot. 

"Okay, _Dog Cops,_ that I gotta give you, because that is genuinely the best thing on television right now, and I wouldn't even know about it if it wasn't for you and your dad," Clint said, getting out of the car. 

"You have to come watch it with us next week!" Ava said, bouncing on her toes. "Dad, can he?"

Clint glanced quickly at Phil, ready to demur. "Sure," Phil said, putting his hand on Clint's arm. "He's welcome any time."

The smile he got in response was gorgeous. "I'd love to, Ava," Clint said.

"Oooh, there's Judith," Ava said, the two of them already forgotten. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay, Dad?"

"Michaela's mom's dropping you off, right?" Phil asked. "Call me if anything changes, and have a good time."

"I will," Ava said. "See you later, Clint!"

"Bye, Ava!" Clint called after her. 

"I'm sorry she went on and on like that," Phil said. "If it helps, it means she really likes you."

"Are you kidding me?" Clint asked, smiling at him. "She's great."

"Yeah, she is, isn't she?" Phil said with a relieved chuckle. He looked up at the marquee. "Shit," he muttered. 

"What?" Clint asked. 

"I thought there was a showing of _The Hobbit_ right around now, but it looks like it started half an hour ago," Phil said. "The next one's not until 8:35."

"Huh," Clint said. "I guess we could go back to the house. You know, watch one of the Ava-approved dvds?"

"Or we could see what else is showing," Phil suggested, studying the list of movies and times. "What about _Skyfall?_ I haven't seen any of the newer Bond movies, but I'm always game for Daniel Craig. If we're lucky, maybe we'll get a glimpse of his ass," he added conspiratorially. 

Clint looked startled for a moment. "Uh, yeah, he is pretty hot," he said, the tips of his ears turning pink. "Sure, I'm game for _Skyfall._ When's it start?"

"Ten minutes," Phil said. "Come on; I don't want to miss the previews." There was probably going to be one for _Man of Steel,_ or maybe _Star Trek: Into Darkness._

Clint insisted on popcorn--"It's not going to the movies without overpriced greasy popcorn, Phil"--but the line wasn't long, so they still made it in plenty of time for the previews. They got seats in the middle of a row, which Clint said would help with any lip-reading he needed to do. Phil deliberately left the arm up in between their seats, and Clint took his hand again as soon as they sat down, balancing the tub of popcorn on his knee.

Phil hadn't held hands with someone at the movies since he was in high school and was still trying to convince himself he was straight. He wondered why it didn't feel weird--it _was_ kind of juvenile, wasn't it? Then Clint smiled at him as the lights went down, and he didn't care if it was juvenile. He loved it.

Phil had his predictable reactions during the first half of the movie--wondering why they didn't get to see all of Daniel Craig's ass, scoffing at Bond's make-shift self-surgery on his chest (although it was a great chest), then snorting in disbelief when he went swimming right afterwards. When Bond was doing pull-ups, Phil wondered how many Clint could do (a lot, he was sure). When they showed Daniel Craig's eyes in a loving close-up, Phil thought to himself, _Clint's eyes are better._ He also thought Clint's arms were better, and even though he hadn't seen him shirtless, he was sure Clint's chest was better, too. 

When Bond was in a towel, Phil wondered if he'd get to see Clint like that any time soon. He'd really like to be standing in the vee of Clint's legs, shaving him, while Clint was wearing a towel and nothing else. 

But he doubted Komodo dragons would go after people like that. Maybe he'd look it up on Wikipedia later.

The first sign of trouble happened when Bond found the woman from the casino and snuck in while she was showering. Clint's hand tightened on his, and Phil glanced at him, wondering if it was because he found the woman attractive. Clint gave him a tiny smile and loosened his grip.

"You okay?" he mouthed, and Clint nodded. 

Then Javier Bardem's character started in on Bond, who was tied to a chair. Clint's hand tightened on his again, and he was breathing faster. When Silva unbuttoned Bond's shirt and started caressing him, Clint's entire body went rigid. 

"Come on, let's go," Phil said, pitching his voice directly into Clint's ear. 

Clint shook his head, his mouth a grim line.

"Seriously, we can go," Phil said, but Clint just shook his head again. Phil sat back in his seat, watching Clint more than he was watching the screen, wishing he could take away whatever memories and pain the movie had brought up. Fucking Loki. He glanced at the screen again when Clint's hand clenched his tight enough to cause pain. Silva had the woman from the casino tied up and was trying to force Bond to shoot a shot glass off her head.

He looked back at Clint, who was shaking so much that the popcorn bucket had fallen over onto the seat next to him. "Hey," Phil said, putting his free hand on Clint's shoulder, rubbing gently. They both flinched when the gun went off, and they flinched again when it went off a second time. "Clint, let's just go," Phil said, wanting to pull him into his arms and never let go.

Clint shook his head again. "Need to stay," he said. "Bond's gonna kill that fucker, and I need to see it."

"Okay," Phil said after a moment. "If that's what you need."

He didn't pay much attention to the rest of the movie. Clint never relaxed, exactly, but he got less tense, at least until the gamekeeper was telling M about Bond hiding in the priest's hole for two days after his parents died. Phil leaned in and rested his head against Clint's, murmuring, "It's okay." Clint gave him what was probably intended to be a smile in response. It made Phil's chest tight. 

When they exited the theater, Clint held his hand up before Phil could say anything. "In the car, okay?" he said, and walked into the bathroom. Phil wanted to follow him, but forced himself to wait outside instead.

Clint was silent until Phil pulled out of the parking lot. "Thanks," he said.

"Don't thank me, Clint, Jesus!" Phil said. "I'm so sorry--if I'd had any idea--"

"Phil," Clint said. "Don't. You didn't know, and it…it helped, having you there. Thank you for not dragging me out of there; I know you wanted to. I just…it's a Bond movie, so Bond's gonna win in the end, right? I figured it would help more if I stayed till the end. I didn't want to walk out of there with that scene in my head. So thanks, for staying with me."

"Did it?" Phil asked.

Clint blew out a breath. "Did it help, you mean?"

Phil nodded, wishing he could be watching Clint's face and not the road. 

"Yeah," Clint said. "It's okay now. I'm okay." At Phil's disbelieving glance, he said, "Really. I'm fine. Let's just get back to your place, all right? I think I owe you some serious make-out time."

"You don't owe me anything," Phil said, reaching for Clint's hand again. 

Clint brought his hand up to his mouth and kissed Phil's fingers. "Okay, you owe _me_ some serious make-out time."

Phil laughed, although he still felt uneasy. "Well, never let it be said that I don't pay my debts."

They were barely through the door when Clint started kissing him, pulling at his jacket, pushing him up against the wall. "Hey, slow down," Phil said. 

"Don't want to," Clint insisted, tossing his jacket on the couch. "Serious make-out time, remember?" He dove in to kiss Phil again, open-mouthed and demanding, and Phil couldn't do anything but respond, because it was _Clint_ kissing him, Clint's tongue in his mouth, Clint's hands pulling the tail of his shirt out of the back of his jeans. He was getting hard already, just from kissing, and he pushed back, guiding Clint to lie down on the couch. 

Everything was going great until Phil climbed on top of Clint and reached his hand under Clint's sweater. Suddenly, Clint was rigid again, pushing Phil away frantically, standing up and stepping back, fear in his eyes, chest heaving for breath.

"Clint?" Phil asked, but when he took a step towards Clint, Clint shook his head and stepped away again.

"I can't," he said hoarsely, and Phil felt his heart breaking. "No, no," Clint said, shaking his head again. "It's not--look, I gotta go. I have to get out of here, Phil, but I _promise_ you I'm coming back, okay? I just--I need to get out of here right now, but I am _coming back;_ please don't give up on me."

"I'm not," Phil said, because the truth was, he didn't think he was capable of giving up where Clint was concerned. "But, Clint, you shouldn't be alone--"

"I know you want to help, Phil, but you've got to believe me, I need to do this," Clint said, picking up his jacket. "I can't--I'll explain, I promise, but right now I have got to _go."_

"Clint," Phil said again, but it was too late--he was already out the door.

Phil stepped back, feeling lost, and sat on the couch. "Well, _fuck."_ He didn't have a clue what he was supposed to do now. Every instinct told him to run after Clint, but his brain told him that Clint could and would take care of himself, that Clint was an adult who knew what he needed, that Clint had promised to return.

He stayed there for a while, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. The movie had been bad enough, but then Phil had done something to trigger a panic attack. He had to figure out what it was so he would never do it again. It must have been when he got on top, or maybe when he pulled Clint's sweater up. Maybe it reminded Clint of Loki. Maybe it was the idea of having sex with a man that did it. 

As he shook his head to try to clear it, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. It was a text from Natasha. _He's okay. Talking on Skype, will call when done._

Another breath, in and out. It wasn't the same as someone's physical presence, but Clint wasn't alone, not if he had Natasha on Skype. Natasha would make sure he was safe, that he was okay. He stood up and went into the kitchen to clean up the dishes from dinner, a pang in his chest when he saw the container of brownies on the counter.

His phone started buzzing again a few minutes later. "Natasha?" he asked.

"He's okay, Phil," she said, her voice calm and reassuring. "He's a couple blocks from your house in his car. He's going to talk to Dr. Xavier."

"His therapist?" Phil said, sitting heavily on the couch again. "Natasha, did he tell you what happened?"

"He said he fucked things up. He's worried you won't want anything to do with him anymore."

"That's…that's ridiculous," Phil said. "I'm the one who fucked up--"

"Neither one of you fucked up," Natasha said firmly. "He had a flashback. It happens, and it wasn't anything you did. Just give him some time to calm down, and he'll be back."

Phil took a breath. "Tasha…"

"It's not like it was before," she said. "Besides, he knows I'd kick his ass if he pulled something like that again." She paused. "Phil, he's crazy about you. He's not going to leave. He wants a relationship with you, and he's willing to do whatever it takes. He moved to Chicago for you."

"Okay," Phil said, trying to believe her. "You'll let me know if you hear from him again?"

"Of course," she said. "I won't need to, though, because after he gets done talking to Xavier, he'll be back at your door."

"I hope you're right," Phil said, feeling shaky.

"I'm always right," she said. "Take care."

***  
The sheer force of Phil's will was barely enough to get him to open up his briefcase and take the care plans out. It failed completely when it came to coming up with any comments that he could actually write on a student's work. "What the fuck do you even mean?" wasn't exactly kosher, and "Did you bother to look your labs up in the book?" wasn't much better. He made it through Jemma Simmons' care plan, but that was just because hers was so close to perfect he was going to ask her if he could save a copy to use as an exemplar for future classes. 

_Well, that's one down, anyway,_ he thought, and picked up Leo Fitz's folder. He usually tried to get through the worst care plans first, but that wasn't going to work tonight. Maybe he could at least make it through Leo's, too.

It had been over an hour since he'd talked to Natasha. He was still on edge, but he was also exhausted. It was nearly midnight; it seemed unlikely Clint would return that night. _But he will be back,_ Phil told himself. _He promised._

Might as well make some of the chamomile tea the previous year's clinical group had given him. Why, exactly, they thought he was someone who would appreciate chamomile tea was beyond him, but he supposed it had its uses, and soothing his nerves on a night like this seemed like it might be one.

His phone buzzed right while he was waiting for the water to boil. It was Clint. _Are you still up?_

 _Yes. Are you okay?_ Phil typed as quickly as he could.

_Yeah. Is it too late to come over?_

_No, it's not too late._ Phil texted, and there was a knock at his door not two seconds later.

"Were you standing out here texting me?" he asked, ushering Clint inside. He looked better--still worn around the edges, but better.

"Didn't want to wake you," Clint said. "You sure it's not too late?"

"Clint," Phil said, and then stopped, uncertain. The kettle started whistling in the kitchen. "I was just making some chamomile tea. Would you like some?"

"Uh, sure, I guess," Clint said. 

"Have a seat," Phil said. "I'll be right back."

When he returned with the mugs, Clint was sitting on the couch, hands clasped between his knees. His leg was jittering up and down. "Thanks," he said when Phil handed him the tea. He looked at the mug for a second, then put it down on the coffee table.

Phil sat on the chair next to the couch. He didn't want to do anything to spook Clint. "Are you okay?" he asked after a moment.

"I'd be better if you were sitting here instead of over there," Clint said, his speech more rapid than usual. "I promise I won't freak out if you touch me. I'd kind of like you to touch me, actually. Is it lame if I ask for a hug?"

"Of course not," Phil said. He put his cup down and stood up. Before he could sit down again, Clint was up and in his arms.

"I'm sorry," Clint said. He was holding on tightly, his face buried in Phil's neck.

"Hey, it's okay," Phil said, one hand in Clint's hair, the other rubbing slowly up and down his back. "It's okay. I'm just glad you're all right."

They stood there for probably five minutes or more until Clint's breathing slowed down again. 

"Okay," Clint finally said, pulling back a little. "Can we sit down now? Only--here," he said, arranging Phil on the couch the way he wanted, his back against the arm, his legs stretched out along the cushions. Clint settled himself with his back to Phil's chest, nestled between Phil's legs. Phil put his arms around Clint, and Clint leaned back against his chest with a satisfied sigh. "This okay?" he asked.

"Sure," Phil said, nuzzling his cheek. "Might make it hard for you to lip-read, though."

"'S okay," Clint said. "I need to tell you some stuff, and it'll be easier if I can just say it without seeing your face."

"Okay," Phil said, holding him close. "I'm listening."

Clint took a slow breath in. "You know how I told you I met Katie at the range, practicing?"

Phil nodded, knowing Clint would be able to feel it. 

"It was the first time I'd picked up a bow in more than twenty years."

Phil breathed in, surprised, and stroked his thumb carefully over the back of Clint's hand. 

"See, I didn't tell you everything that happened when I left the circus," Clint continued, a barely audible hitch in his voice. "It wasn't just--I told you Trick was jealous, right? That he'd been happy being the star attraction when I was gone?"

Phil nodded again. This part of the story, he knew--Clint had had a falling out with his mentor, Jacques Duquesne, and had left the circus for nearly two years, only returning when his brother begged him to come back. 

"Well, that much was true," Clint said. "But then…I met someone. A guy. We were wintering over in Florida, and I met this guy; his name was Danny. I really liked him, and I was sick of putting up with homophobic bullshit from everywhere, including my own head. Danny asked me out, and I said yes. I didn't tell anyone at Carson's about it, but I didn't exactly keep it a secret, either. We went to this diner in town, and we were going to go to a movie after, but Trick and Barney walked into the diner while we were still there."

"What happened?" Phil asked after a moment of silence.

"I grabbed Danny's hand, and we left. We went to the movie, thinking we'd escaped. He kissed me, and it was great; I was really into it. Which is probably how I managed to miss the fact that Trick and Barney followed us in. They started throwing shit at us--popcorn, M&Ms, that kind of thing, but I knew it was just the start. I made Danny get up and leave with me. I thought if we left, we could find someplace private where they couldn't find us, but it didn't work out that way."

Clint turned his head towards Phil. He was shaking again--not as much as he had during the movie, but enough that Phil murmured, "Hey, it's okay," and held him a little tighter. Clint clutched at Phil's arms where they were wrapped around Clint's chest, and they stayed there for a minute or two. Phil's heart was beating quickly; he had a feeling he knew what was coming, and it made him want to find Buck Chisolm and Barney Barton and beat the crap out of them.

"They didn't rape me," Clint said eventually, his voice gone quiet. "They stripped both of us down, and they…. You have to understand, Trick and Barney both learned from Duquesne, same as me, and Trick, he always liked the knife stuff more than I did. They got the jump on us, and Trick had his knife, and he had a gun, too. First they just threatened to hurt us. Danny, he didn't know them; he didn't know to be afraid. Or maybe he was just braver than I was. But he spat in their faces, and that was the last straw for Trick. He started beating on both of us, and he had my bow. That was the worst part, I think."

Phil stayed quiet and kept holding Clint close, wishing he could go back in time and save Clint and Danny from whatever horrible things Clint was about to tell him. 

"Trick decided we both needed to be taught a lesson, so he held the gun on me and told me to fuck Danny." Phil couldn't help the sound he made at that, but Clint kept talking. "I wouldn't. I said he could kill me if he wanted, but I wouldn't do that. So he took my bow and he…he used it on Danny. When he finished, he was going to use it on me, but I guess that was the one thing Barney couldn't abide, so he started waling on me, hitting me, kicking me, yelling that no brother of his was a queer, that I'd be better off dead. Trick gave up on the rape idea, I guess, and used the bow to join in on the beat-down. I woke up two days later at the hospital with an orbital fracture, a concussion, a ruptured spleen, broken ribs, and a chest tube. They said I was lucky."

Clint took a shuddering breath. "I didn't feel lucky."

If Ava or Henry ever sounded like that, Phil would have hugged them so tightly neither of them would be able to breathe. He wasn't sure that was the best idea for Clint, at least not right now, so he settled for running his hands up and down over Clint's arms, hoping the motion was as soothing as he intended it to be.

Clint took another breath and went on. "The circus had left town. They told me Danny was in the same hospital, but when I tried to visit him, he said he didn't want to see me. I never saw him again. Never saw my brother again, either. Last I heard, he and Trick got picked up for robbing a liquor store and killing a cop. They're in prison now, and I hope they rot there."

 _Prison's too good for them,_ Phil thought. Clint's reaction to the movie made more sense than he'd realized at the time; no wonder the scene with the shot glass had triggered Clint.

Clint didn't say anything else, but he turned so that he was on his side, half his body resting on top of Phil's. Phil held him, stroking gently along the back of his neck and down to his shoulder, for some unmeasured length of time. Finally, Clint let out a long sigh and said, "Thanks."

"You don't need to thank me," Phil said. "I wish there was something I could do. I'm sorry about earlier. I never want to do anything to make you feel unsafe."

Clint looked up. His eyes were red, but they were dry, and he looked like he'd let go of an enormous burden. "Phil, you didn't do anything wrong. You didn't know, and when I freaked out, you tried to help. I feel safe with you, believe me--you think I could have told you all this shit if I didn't?"

"I guess not," Phil conceded. "I'm glad you told me," he added, pushing a stray lock of hair away from Clint's face. 

"Yeah, me too," Clint said, followed by an enormous yawn.

"I should let you go; you must be exhausted," Phil said, making a valiant effort and sitting up. "Will you be okay to drive home? I…you could stay in the guest room if you want. I'm not sure you should be out on the roads." There had been snow falling when he'd opened the door, and Clint really did look exhausted.

"I'd rather stay," Clint said, his cheeks flushing "only--I understand if this is too weird, but how would you feel about me staying, only not in the guest room?"

"You mean staying with me?" Phil asked. 

Clint nodded. "I meant it when I said I felt safe with you. I'd feel better sleeping with you next to me. If, you know, that was okay with you. I don't want it to be weird. Well, more weird; I think tonight already qualifies as pretty fucking weird."

"I think I'd feel better with you in bed with me, too," Phil said, something blooming deep inside his chest. 

"Yeah?" Clint said, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Yeah," Phil answered. 

"I, uh, I've got some stuff in the car," Clint said, his face redder than it was before. "I'll just go get it."

"Okay," Phil said, flailing inside as he realized that Clint had come prepared to spend the night with him. 

Phil gave Clint the first turn in the bathroom. It gave him time to get the extra pillows off the bed and turn on the light on the other side of the bed, the one that never got used. When Clint came back, he was wearing a faded t-shirt and flannel pajama pants. Phil could barely breathe when Clint gave him a shy smile. "This side okay?" he asked, and Phil nodded. 

"I'll be right back," he promised, and escaped into the bathroom. 

When he came back, Clint was in the bed, on his side, and he'd already turned the light back off. Phil slid under the sheets. He was about to turn his light off when Clint reached for his arm. "I took my hearing aids out," he said, his voice a little louder than usual. "So I won't be able to hear you if you say anything."

"Okay," Phil said, making sure Clint could see his face. "Ready?"

Clint nodded. After he hit the switch, Phil turned onto his side, facing Clint. Clint immediately scooted closer, pulling Phil's arm over and tucking himself into the hollow of Phil's body, back to front. Phil held him close, reveling in the warmth, the movement of his chest as he breathed. _I'm spooning Clint Barton,_ he thought, smiling, and fell asleep.

***  
It wasn't the first time Phil had been awakened by Mrs. Danowski's schnauzer--it happened with dismaying frequency--but waking up with Clint draped half over Phil's chest made it a lot more pleasant. The dog kept barking, but Clint never stirred. He couldn't hear the barking, Phil realized.

The light in the bedroom was the kind of grey that happened only around dawn on a snowy morning, somehow both brighter and softer than any other light. Phil looked at the man sleeping next to him, lit by that soft, perfect light, and felt a happiness he'd never experienced before. He dozed for a while, until he couldn't ignore his bladder any longer and slid carefully out of Clint's grasp. 

The floor of the bathroom chilled his bare feet; by the time he finished brushing his teeth, he was cold enough to appreciate getting back into his warm, delightfully occupied bed. Clint greeted him with open arms and a sleepy smile, but after Phil had settled himself under the covers, Clint kissed his shoulder and got out.

When Clint came back to bed, he moved right into Phil's space, into his arms, one bare foot coming to rest on top of Phil's ankle. Their chests pressed together when they both breathed in. Clint reached up and slowly ran his fingers along Phil's cheek, along his jaw, before closing the last gap between them and kissing Phil, his lips gentle and tender. Phil sighed happily, opening his mouth, tasting the slight difference between the brands of toothpaste they used as they traded slow kisses back and forth. 

Phil had always viewed sex as a physical process that ended up in (hopefully) mutually pleasing orgasms. He'd always had a silent checklist going in his head about what came next, whether it was as simple as taking his shirt off or as complex as someone's fingers in his ass, stretching him out before fucking him. Like all the lists Phil made, there was room for changing course, for improvisation, but the basic outline was always the same, more or less.

None of that mattered with Clint. Phil would have been perfectly content to kiss him forever, to ignore the increasing pull of arousal, ignore the way his erection pressed up against Clint's--or, if not to ignore it, to be satisfied with the small shifts their hips made with no seeming volition, at least not on Phil's part. He was just there, in the moment, with Clint, kissing him, feeling the play of muscles in Clint's back under his t-shirt, the strength of the thigh he was rocking against, and there was nowhere else he needed to be. 

He didn't know how much time had passed when Clint pulled back, just that he didn't want Clint to leave the cocoon of bliss they'd been building together. He made a noise of protest Clint couldn't hear, chasing after his lips, but Clint smiled at him and pulled his shirt off before working his hands under Phil's to get that off as well. Neither of them had said a word--it hadn't been necessary--but Clint hummed in pleasure as he kissed his way across Phil's chest. Phil came back to himself enough to make letting Clint take the lead more of a conscious decision, but even the importance of not doing anything to spook him was muted. This was what they were doing now, and they would keep doing it as long as they needed or wanted to. It was good, and it would continue to be good.

Eventually Clint wriggled out of his pajama pants and pulled at Phil's waistband until he did the same. Both of them moaned aloud at the sensation of skin on skin as their dicks rubbed up against each other's for the first time. Clint's kisses turned a little desperate, and Phil was soon panting against his shoulder, holding on as Clint thrust into the crease between his hip and thigh. Whatever part of him that was still capable of thinking figured that's what would do it for both of them, but instead Clint backed off and turned onto his back, pulling Phil on top of him. He didn't say a word, but the look in his eyes as he gazed up at Phil was clear enough. He trusted Phil, and he wanted Phil to know.

Phil nearly came right then, just from the way Clint was looking at him. Well, that combined with the obvious; all that golden skin below him, the silken hardness of Clint's erection, the overwhelming emotion ( _love,_ there was nothing else to call it but love) he felt. He took a shaky breath and bent to kiss Clint again, then mouthed his way down Clint's chest and belly to take his dick in his mouth.

It had been a while since he'd done this, and it took him a minute to coordinate his mouth and his hand, but judging from the sounds Clint was making, he hadn't completely forgotten what to do. It was different, though--the taste of it, of Clint, the feel of velvet-soft skin against his tongue, it was all so much better than what he'd done before. He got a little lost in it all, and he nearly choked when Clint came, despite the hand tightening on his shoulder that was probably meant as a warning. He got some in his face, but he swallowed the rest, more turned on than he would have believed possible, unable to keep from thrusting against the sheets as he eased Clint through the aftershocks. 

He gave Clint's softening dick one last kiss and sat up. He reached down to finish himself off, but Clint grabbed him by the biceps and hauled him up into a passionate, sloppy kiss, then pushed him back onto the bed and proceeded to jerk him off. Clint watched himself fist Phil's dick with a laser-like focus, his lower lip caught between his teeth, until Phil came all over his hand with a series of high-pitched noises he'd never heard come out of his own mouth before.

Clint collapsed on top of him and started shaking. It took Phil a second or two of worry before he realized the muffled noises coming from the vicinity of his left shoulder were laughter. He put his arms around Clint and hugged him tight, kissing the only part he could easily reach, which was Clint's ear, and found that he was laughing right along with Clint, the sound joyful and infectious. Eventually Clint rolled over onto his back, clasping Phil's hand, and looked at him, grinning.

"I think I might be further on the Kinsey scale than I'd thought," he said loudly, "because that was the best blow job I've ever had."

"Maybe I'm just that good," Phil said, enunciating as well as he could when he was this full of endorphins. 

Clint squeezed his hand and reached for one of their t-shirts. They wiped off perfunctorily, pulled the sheets and blankets up over themselves again, and fell back asleep in each other's arms.

***  
When Phil woke again, the light was different, and Clint wasn't in the bed with him anymore. A glance at the clock let him know it was mid-morning. He could smell coffee and bacon. He stretched lazily and pulled on Clint's t-shirt (it was the clean one) and his own pajama pants. Clint's hearing aids were missing from the bedside table, and his bag was open on the dresser. Clint's purple toothbrush was sitting next to his in the cup on the bathroom counter, and he could hear the faint sounds of Clint moving around in the kitchen. It all felt real and perfect and wonderfully domestic, and Phil had to stop a minute and laugh at himself before he left the room.

"Hey, you're up," Clint said when he walked into the kitchen. 

"Mmmm, good morning," Phil said, putting his arms around Clint's waist and kissing him. 

"It really is," Clint agreed, kissing him back. He was wearing jeans and a faded UIC t-shirt. There was a faint stain near the hem that Phil recognized, and it was a size too small for Clint. 

"Clint," Phil said, fiddling with the hem. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Your shirt?" Clint said, his cheeks pink. "Yeah. Is it weird that I kept it? I, uh, you can have it back if you want. The sweatpants bit the dust a few years ago…"

"You keep it," Phil said, fighting to keep his emotions in check. "Looks better on you than it ever did on me, anyway."

"I doubt that," Clint said, looking him up and down with a sly grin. "The first time I saw you in casual wear I thought I was gonna spontaneously combust. And you look damned fine in purple," he added, resting his hand on Phil's chest.

Phil chuckled and kissed his neck. "Duly noted. Coffee?"

"Of course," Clint said, nodding at the half-full pot on the counter. "Scrambled okay, or you want fried?"

"Scrambled's good," Phil answered, stealing Clint's mug and refilling it. Clint stole it back after Phil had downed half of it, ignoring the cream Phil had added. 

Clint stood up when they'd finished eating. "You'll have to say goodbye to Ava for me," he said.

"You can't stay?" Phil asked, trying to hide his disappointment. He followed Clint out into the living room.

Clint shook his head. "Kate's with Nolan this weekend. Simone was supposed to watch Lucky, but she texted me this morning that her mom's sick, so she had to go."

"So it's just Lucky?" Phil said. "Because you could bring him here. I mean, if you want," he added, feeling awkward. How _did_ you invite your new…partner? boyfriend? to stay the rest of the weekend with you? 

"You'd be okay with that?" Clint asked, looking hopeful. "Ava wouldn't mind?"

"Ava loves dogs," Phil said. "And I'd love it if you stayed. I mean, brought Lucky back here. To stay. The rest of the weekend, I mean. If you want." God, he sounded like a complete idiot. You'd think he'd never invited someone to stay the weekend before. Not that he actually _had,_ of course, but it shouldn't be that difficult.

"He's not much to look at, but he's a great dog," Clint said quickly, like he thought Phil might change his mind. "He won't be any problem, I promise. Are you sure? Because that would be great."

"Go on, go get your dog and get your ass back here," Phil said, making shooing motions. 

"I'll pick up some stuff for dinner," Clint said, beaming. "You like spaghetti and meatballs? Of course you do. Everyone likes spaghetti and meatballs. Unless--Ava's not a vegetarian, is she?"

"She ate the stew last night, remember?" Phil said, grabbing him by the belt loops and pulling him in for a kiss. "Fair warning, if you don't leave now, I'm liable to find a way to make you stay."

"Mmm, I'm going, I'm going," Clint said, wrestling his jacket on and leaning in for one last kiss. "I'll see you in a couple hours."

"I'll be here," Phil said. 

When he looked at his phone after Clint left, there was another text from Natasha. _I hear you two had a good morning,_ it said.

 _We did,_ Phil texted back. 

The response came a few seconds later. _About time._

Phil couldn't help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint is triggered by watching _Skyfall_ with Phil (if you haven't seen that movie, there are scenes where Bond is tied up and touched and when he is told to shoot a shot glass off a woman's head), and again later when they're making out. Phil stops immediately. Clint tells Phil about when Trickshot and Barney raped a guy he was dating, tried to get Clint to rape him as well by threatening to kill Clint, threatened to rape Clint, and beat Clint and the guy up and left them to die (both survived). Phil and Clint have sex later, but it's completely and enthusiastically consensual, and there are no magical healing cocks.


	7. Advanced Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When last we met, Phil and Clint had finally, after years and years of pining and breaking apart and rebuilding their relationship, gotten together and had some very satisfactory sex. Here's what happened after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final chapter took a long time. I didn't write anything for a while this spring. Instead, I spent several weeks out of town while my dad died. It took some time for me to get back from that, in several senses of the phrase. I couldn't have done it without Hederahelix, who was there for me while I was in another state for a month and has been with me for this story and especially this chapter. I also got help from Dine and Lyrstzha, but in the end, _Plan of Care_ is for Hederahelix. She knows why.
> 
> This is the last chapter, but it's not the end of the story. I've always known there was going to be a sequel. There might be more than that, or at least some bits of backstory or stuff from other people than Phil's POV. We'll see.
> 
> Thanks to all of you who've stuck with this story, one I started in February of 2013, when I was anxiously wondering if anyone other than me would be interested in this kind of AU. To those of you who have been waiting until it's done to read it, I hope it was worth the wait.

Phil was reading the paper, still in his pajamas (still in Clint's t-shirt), when Ava got home. "Hey, Dad," she said when she walked in.

"Hi, honey," he said. "How was the sleepover?"

"It was okay," she said, shrugging. "Judith and Michaela got into a fight about Marius and Enjolras again, so they were acting all bitchy to each other. Caitlyn and Emily and I kinda did our own thing. How was your date with Clint?"

"It was great," Phil said, which was certainly true of the way it ended up. "Uh, about that," he added hesitantly. 

"What?" Ava said, looking at him. "If you're trying to figure out how to tell me he spent the night, I already know."

"You do?" Phil said, sitting back in surprise. "How did you know?"

"Well, for one thing, that is not your t-shirt," she said, rolling her eyes. "And there are two coffee mugs on the kitchen counter."

"Is that okay?" Phil asked, because he'd never actually talked to her about it, and now Clint was planning on coming back. It was going to suck if he had to text him to tell him not to bother.

"Of course it is," Ava said, throwing her hands up in the air. "I'm not stupid, Dad, and you don't need to shelter me like I'm a little kid. You can have your boyfriend sleep over. I won't be scarred by the experience of seeing him, like, over breakfast or something. Just don't make out in front of me, okay? Because that would be gross."

"Noted," Phil said, relieved. "I'm glad you're okay with it, because I invited him to stay the rest of the weekend. He's coming back in an hour or so, and he's bringing Lucky with him."

"His dog?" Ava said, brightening. "Awesome! Hey, what's for lunch?"

"Lunch?" Phil asked. He glanced at the clock and, what do you know, it was almost noon. "We have sandwich stuff--knock yourself out. I'm gonna take a shower."

Phil was getting undressed when it occurred to him that if Clint were still there, they could have taken a shower together. Maybe they'd do that tomorrow. He carried that thought with him and stood under the spray, musing over what had happened that morning. He didn't consider himself inexperienced--he supposed he'd had another kind of internal checklist where sex was concerned, one where he ticked off the appropriate activities a gay man should experience (blow job, receiving; blow job, giving; etc.). He'd never done anything he'd consider particularly kinky, but he'd also prided himself on avoiding any stereotypical insistence on only topping or bottoming. He didn't get it, really--both were pretty great, although they'd be better with Clint. Everything was better with Clint.

His dick agreed with that thought, but Phil steadfastly ignored it. He was nearly fifty years old, and if he jerked off now, he'd regret it later. That didn't mean he couldn't think about it some more, though--about what they might do later that day, that night, the next day. The next week, the next month. Even the next year, which seemed both impossible to contemplate and impossible not to. 

He'd never known sex could be that good, that he could feel so deeply. He guessed people might say he'd been missing out, all these years, but he didn't think there was anything he could have done differently. There certainly hadn't been a line of men beating down the door to be with him; that someone like Clint could remain interested in someone like Phil was astonishing. 

Whatever this thing was that he had with Clint--whether he should or could call it love, or being in love, or whatever--he'd never truly believed he'd have it in his life, much as he might have wished for it. He'd never felt like this before; he'd never opened himself up like this. It should have been terrifying, especially given their history, but all Phil could think about was how unbelievably grateful he was that he'd been given this second chance with Clint, that he hadn't let it slip through his fingers like he so easily might have.

He finished his shower, shaved, and got dressed, still contemplating how different his life looked from what it had been twenty-four hours earlier. Clint--incredible, gorgeous, amazing Clint--had spent the night in his bed, and he'd looked at Phil like he was some sort of gift. Clint had laughed with joy after they'd had what by all rights should have been awkward sex but instead was more meaningful than Phil had ever imagined it could be. He wandered into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, lost in thought. He was standing in front of the fridge, trying to decide between turkey and roast beef, when the doorbell rang.

Once again, Ava beat him to the door; she was on her knees greeting Clint's dog when he joined them. "Hey," Clint said, that warm smile on his face again, the one Phil was quickly becoming addicted to. Clint dropped his duffel on the floor and put his hands on Phil's hips, pulling him in for a kiss. 

Phil kept it brief, not wanting to upset Ava, but he kept his arms around Clint for a moment longer, resting his cheek against Clint's. "Hey. Welcome back," he said, his voice stuttering a little when he realized he was about to say "welcome home" instead.

Clint hummed in acknowledgement, tightening his arms around Phil for another moment, then stepped back. "Come meet Pizza Dog," he said.

The dog looked up from his ongoing love fest with Ava when he heard Clint. "Yeah, you," Clint said fondly as the dog came immediately to his side. 

Phil held out his hand for the dog to sniff. "Lucky, this is Phil," Clint said. "Phil, this is Lucky, also known as Pizza Dog."

"Hi, Lucky," Phil said, crouching down to his level. His face was immediately and enthusiastically licked. 

"Awww, dog," Clint said, but Phil just laughed and buried his hands in Lucky's fur. He dropped onto the floor, and Lucky moved half into his lap, the melting snow on his paws soaking through Phil's jeans. 

He knew that Lucky had had a rough life before Clint had rescued him, but the only sign of that abuse was his missing eye. There was none of the fear or aggression Phil had expected, just the affection and enthusiasm of an obviously beloved and well-cared for companion. "Who's a good boy," he said, and Lucky's tail, already in motion, started wagging so hard that the dog's entire rear half got involved. Of course, by that time he was being petted by Clint and Ava as well as Phil, all of them crowded around him on the floor, so Phil supposed he must have been in some sort of doggy heaven. 

"He really likes you guys," Clint said, sounding nearly as happy as Lucky appeared. 

"He's a sweetheart," Phil said, standing up again. Ava stayed on the floor, her face lit up with an uncomplicated joy Phil hadn't seen much of lately. It seemed like Phil wasn't the only one affected by Clint's presence in their home. "You might have a hard time getting him back--I think Ava's not gonna want to let him go."

Clint put his arm around Phil. "I guess I'll just have to bring him over to visit a lot."

"Good plan," Phil said, a no-doubt goofy smile on his face. "You hungry? I was just about to fix myself a sandwich."

"Right, food," Clint said, looking distracted. "The food's still in the car. You guys still good with spaghetti?"

"Spaghetti sounds great," Phil said. "Right, Ava?" he added when she didn't respond.

"Sure," she said, her attention still focused on Lucky. "Can I take him for a walk? Is that okay, Clint?"

"Of course you can," Clint said, opening up the duffel bag. "Here's his leash, and here's the bags and scooper."

Ava looked at the proffered items, her expression dimming. "Oh, right," she said, taking them from Clint and standing up. "Okay. Come on, Lucky!"

The two of them were gone about thirty seconds later, leaving Phil and Clint alone. "How long of a walk do you think she'll take?" Phil asked, taking Clint back into his arms. 

"I have no idea," Clint said. Phil leaned in to kiss him with the thoroughness and attention to detail he prided himself in. 

"I'm guessing it's probably not long enough to do what I want to," Phil said a few minutes later, mouthing at Clint's neck. 

"Fuck, Phil, what you do to me," Clint said. They were pressed up against each other, close enough that Phil could tell Clint was just as turned on as he was, and Clint had his hands under Phil's sweater and halfway up his back. 

Phil wanted to drop to the floor and get another good, long taste of Clint, but there were a number of reasons why that wasn't the best idea at the moment, two of them being his knees. "Mmm, listen, we should talk about this," he said, pulling back reluctantly. 

Clint went still. "Talk?" he said, his voice as controlled as his body.

"Hey, no," Phil said, cupping his cheek and meeting his eyes. "Don't go there. I just meant we should talk about the kind of stuff you normally talk about _before_ you have sex with someone. You know, what you like, what you don't like, the last time you got tested, that kind of thing. I know you haven't had a lot of experience with guys, but that doesn't mean you don't have anything specific in mind you want to try. Or not try," he added, studying Clint's face carefully, because there was something complicated going on there.

"Okay," Clint said, but he didn't sound okay. 

"Clint, you know I'm in this for the long haul, don't you?" Phil asked. "I mean it. I'm not going anywhere. Unless…is that not what you want?"

"It is what I want," Clint said. "I just--look, can we do this after I bring the stuff in?"

"Of course," Phil said, worried. He followed Clint out to his car--the cold helped him get rid of the last of his erection--then helped put the groceries away. There were a lot of them, including several items you would never put in spaghetti. "You know, I have flour," he said, elbowing Clint. "And eggs, and butter. I even have vanilla and chocolate chips."

"I figured better safe than sorry," Clint said, flushing. "Don't want to have to go out again." He put the butter in the freezer.

"You don't have to make me scones, Clint," Phil said, letting his affection show in his face and his voice. 

"I thought maybe we could all make them," Clint mumbled, looking down. "If Ava would be into it. I know it's not Christmas cookies, but…. Never mind--we don't have to do it."

"You want to make scones with me and Ava?" Phil asked, surprised. Clint flinched. "No, no, Clint," he said, reaching for his shoulder, wishing he knew how he could keep Clint from always assuming the worst. "Don't do that. You're amazing. Really, truly--no one's ever…." He trailed off, because it wasn't like he'd ever given anyone else the _opportunity,_ but somehow he doubted Jimmy Woo would have ever been that thoughtful. "It's a great idea, and I'm sure Ava will think so, too."

"It's not a big deal," Clint said, but he was smiling when he said it. "I just thought it might be fun."

"It will be. Now, what'll you have for lunch? I've got ham, roast beef, and turkey in the fridge, or if you want, I could heat up some of the leftover stew from last night."

"Sandwiches are good. What do you like on yours?" Clint asked, opening the fridge. "No, wait, it's roast beef and horseradish, right? With cheddar cheese?"

"I can't believe you remember that," Phil said, getting plates out of the cupboard. He'd told Clint about his favorite sandwich one day during clinical when the hospital cafeteria's offerings had been worse than usual. They'd had a friendly debate about the relative worthiness of mustard versus horseradish. "What do you want to drink?"

Clint waved him away. "I've got it. Sit down already. Hey, has Ava eaten yet? What kind of sandwich does she like?"

"She had something earlier," Phil said. "Here, let me get the chips out, at least."

Turned out that Phil could add sandwiches to the growing list of things to eat that Clint was excellent at preparing. When Clint got up from the table to clear the plates, Phil stopped him. "Let me do one thing, at least," he said, kicking at Clint's ankle as he took the plates from him. "You don't have to prove your usefulness, Clint--I'm just glad you're here."

When he turned back to the table, Clint had a flat expression on his face. "You okay?" he said, but Clint just nodded and smiled. 

Phil was about to ask if Clint were ready to have that talk when the front door opened, Ava calling out that she was back, "so you'd better not be making out!" Lucky trotted into the kitchen a moment later, leaving a trail of pawprints behind him. 

"Shit--I mean shoot, I'm sorry," Clint said, grabbing Lucky's collar with one hand and a dishtowel with the other. "I should have told Ava to dry his feet when they came in."

"She should have known to do it herself," Phil said, bending to help Clint. "Ava, you're on mop duty," he called out.

" _Fine,"_ Ava grumbled, but she soon joined them in the kitchen, looking only mildly disgruntled. 

Clint insisted that the butter had to chill before they could start on the scones, so after some discussion and Ava-wrangling, they got comfortable on the couch to watch _Farscape._ Phil had seen it before, but Clint and Ava hadn't, so once Phil had extracted promises that he could skip certain episodes (he was never, ever going to watch "Jeremiah Crichton" again, at least not without the commentary track), they settled in with the pilot. Ava acted bored at first, but she was hooked once the radiant Aeryn Sun showed up, as Phil had predicted.

"This is great, but if you want dinner any time soon, we're gonna have to stop for a while," Clint said when they'd finished the fourth episode. "I mean, unless you and Ava want to keep watching without me," he added hesitantly.

"Why the hell would we do that?" Ava asked. She'd sworn several times during the evening, apparently on a quest to let Clint know she wasn't some little kid he had to watch his language with. Phil found it pretty adorable and suspected Clint did as well.

"We wouldn't," Phil said firmly. "The next episode is 'PK Tech Girl.' You don't want to miss that one, trust me." He followed Clint into the kitchen, Ava trailing along after him. Something smelled absolutely delicious, and he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed while they were watching television. 

"What're we having for dinner, anyway?" she asked. "Please tell me it's not meatloaf. Clint, you don't like meatloaf, do you?"

"I've had some meat loaf that wasn't that great, but there have been plenty of times when it's definitely hit the spot," Clint said carefully. "I'm sure your dad's is excellent, but we're having spaghetti and meatballs tonight, if that's okay with you." Phil saw the way he hunched his shoulders ever so slightly, then took a deep breath and let them back down.

"Sure!" Ava said brightly. "Did you get the turkey meatballs like Dad uses?"

"Uh, I was going to make them with a mixture of beef and pork," Clint said, looking at Phil with no small amount of panic. Phil smiled at him and patted him on the arm.

"You're going to _make_ meatballs?" Ava asked, sounding awed. "I've only ever had the frozen kind."

"My one attempt at home-made was a bit of a disaster," Phil told Clint, only a little defensive. "Frozen's a lot easier not to screw up."

"It's all in the proportions," Clint said with an easy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. He got an egg and an onion out of the fridge. "Where's your cutting board?"

"Wait, when did you get the sauce started?" Phil asked, just noticing the pot bubbling gently on the stove.

"At home," Clint said. "Didn't you notice the tupperware in with the groceries? I put it on fifteen minutes ago."

"It smells great," Phil said, wandering over with a spoon to taste it.

"It's not done yet," Clint said, taking the spoon away from him. "Cutting board?"

"Here," Phil said, grabbing one from the drawer, wondering why Clint was so protective of his sauce. "I can do the onions."

"I've got it," Clint said quickly. "Where did I put those breadcrumbs?"

"Ava, you want to start getting stuff out for a salad?" Phil said after a moment. "You'll let us do that, at least?" he asked Clint, keeping his tone light and teasing.

"Uh, sure, okay," Clint said, looking down at the cutting board. His shoulders were up again, and he was holding the knife too tightly.

Ava was paying attention for once and left the room, saying she was going to let Lucky out into the backyard. 

Clint was still staring at the cutting board. He put the knife and onion down carefully, but he didn't look up. 

Phil put his hand on top of Clint's, squeezing gently. "Sorry," Clint said. "I do this sometimes--Bobbi used to call me on it. I guess it's left over from when I was a kid."

Phil studied him. "What do you mean?"

"Can we talk about it later?" Clint asked, finally looking at him. "This and the other thing? Maybe after Ava's gone to bed?"

"Okay," Phil said. Part of him wanted to press the issue, but after everything else, he didn't want to do anything that might make Clint feel less than safe. "Okay," he said again, leaning in to kiss Clint's cheek. He rested his forehead against Clint's temple until Clint took a deep breath and relaxed. "I'm gonna start on that salad."

"Okay," Clint said, the relief in his voice clear as day. "Thanks."

The rest of the evening proceeded much as the afternoon had. Dinner was delicious, 'DNA Mad Scientist' blew Ava and Clint's minds, and Phil spent most of it with his arm around Clint. If he hadn't been worried about what was bothering Clint, it would have been perfect.

Ava finally gave in to the sleepiness she'd been fighting the whole day after 'They've Got a Secret' and got up from the couch to go to bed. She gave them both good night hugs, which was unexpected. Clint gaped at her a moment before he hugged her back and wished her sweet dreams; Phil practically squeezed the breath out of her when she came to him. 

"I think she likes you," Phil said once he heard her door close.

"Really?" Clint asked, turning to face him.

"Yes, really," Phil said, swatting him on the arm. "She hardly ever hugs _me_ anymore. Of course, I think Lucky is probably part of it." The dog in question had followed Ava up the stairs and into her room.

"Yeah, he's a great dog," Clint said. "I'm glad you--both of you--like him."

"He easy to like," Phil said sincerely. "So's his owner. Come on, let's get these in the dishwasher," he added, picking up the popcorn bowls.

Clint followed him into the kitchen with the glasses. Once the dishes were loaded, Phil pulled Clint close. "I'm really glad you came back," he said. 

He didn't mean just that day. From Clint's expression when he said, "Yeah, me too," he felt the same. 

Phil kissed him softly. "You ready to talk?" he asked.

Clint sighed. "I guess now wouldn't be the time to start the scones, huh?"

"I think we can save those for the morning," Phil said, taking him by the hand. "Couch or bed?"

"Uh, couch, if you're sure Ava won't hear," Clint said.

They sat next to each other on the couch, and Phil wondered if he should offer to hold Clint the way he had the night before. That led to other thoughts. "We don't have to talk if you're not ready," he said. "I don't ever want to push you. I want you to feel safe."

"I know," Clint said, moving closer. "I do. Thanks."

"So," Phil said. "I know there were probably times when you didn't get enough to eat when you were a kid."

"Yeah, but that's not--it's not about that," Clint said. "I, uh, it started with my mom, actually," he continued, scratching the back of his neck. "Sometimes--not often, but sometimes--if she made my dad's favorite cookies, or steak and a baked potato, it would calm him down."

" _Clint,"_ Phil said, horrified. Surely Clint didn't think he had to appease Phil? "I'm so sorry if I made you feel--"

"No, it's not like that," Clint said quickly. "It's more when I'm feeling…insecure, I guess? I just…we, I mean me and Barney, we got placed a few times before we ran away. A couple times, I thought maybe it might work out, but Barney was a handful. I would try to make up for his, uh, transgressions, try to be a good boy, to make things better. I'd clean up, do his chores as well as mine, and I'd bake cookies or ask them to let me help with the cooking. Once we got to Carson's, I kept doing it, for Barney and the rest of them."

Phil took that in. He wasn't sure what his best response would be, but telling Clint just how much he wanted to beat the shit out of his older brother probably wasn't a good move. "You said something about Bobbi?" he asked after a moment.

"Yeah," Clint said, looking down. "We…You know our relationship didn't exactly have the best foundation, and Bobbi--she's a fucking genius. Like, Tony Stark smart. I never knew what she saw in me that made her think I was worth more than the one night stand we started with. She didn't mind cooking, but she was so busy, and I--I guess I told myself her work was more important. I thought I was just being helpful. But she figured it out after a few months."

"How?" Phil asked, putting his hand on Clint's arm.

"I tried to make my own birthday dinner," Clint answered.

Once again holding back what he really wanted to say, Phil said, "What can I do to help you see there's no reason for you to feel insecure about us?" 

Clint grimaced. "That's more related to the other thing."

"The other thing?" Phil said, confused. 

"Do you like fucking?" Clint asked abruptly. He was looking at his hands again. "You know, uh, topping, I guess? And bottoming? Because I don't…I don't think I can do that. So if--"

"If the next words out of your mouth were going to be something about how you'd understand if I didn't want to be with you because you wouldn't let me fuck you, you can shut the fuck up right now," Phil said, trying to sound firm rather than angry. "Clint, I want to be with you. There are so many ways we can be together, ways to make each other feel good. I don't give a shit if we never have penetrative sex, as long as I get to have sex with _you."_

"You sure about that?" Clint asked, looking up. "Because…I mean it, Phil. I don't--I've never done that, and I don't think I ever could. I should have told you before."

"It's okay, Clint, I promise." Phil took a deep breath. "Is it because of the rape?" He kept his voice as gentle as he could.

Clint nodded, looking miserable. "I tried once, with Bobbi. It was a disaster."

"It's not a problem, Clint," Phil said, taking his hand. "I meant what I said. Sex with you will be great, no matter what we're doing."

"You sound awfully sure," Clint said, glancing at him sideways.

"I am," Phil said. "Giving you that blow job this morning was the most erotic experience of my life. I'd never done anything like that before." He flushed a little at the confession.

"What, sex with a deaf guy?" Clint asked, not quite reaching the teasing tone he was reaching for. "Morning sex?"

"No to the former, yes to the latter, but that wasn't what I meant," Phil said, bringing Clint's hand up and kissing it to cover his embarrassment.

"Wait," Clint said, looking at him. "You'd never given a blow job before? I'm sorry, Phil, but I think you've been doing the gay thing all wrong."

Phil laughed, glad to see Clint's returning smile, even if it was brief. "I've given them," he said. "Gotten them, too. But I've always used a condom."

"Really?" Clint asked, his eyes wide. "Why would…oh."

Phil shrugged. "This morning…it never even occurred to me. And I'm glad it didn't," he added, because Clint was looking concerned. "Really glad."

"You don't have to worry," Clint said earnestly. "I, uh, I got tested. Everything was negative."

"Me too," Phil said, squeezing his hand. "And I wasn't worried."

"You seriously never did it without a condom?" Clint asked after a moment. "Because--okay, I get that I've only ever been with women, and I know theoretically there's the whole dental dam thing, but to be honest I never thought to use one. Seems like it would take half the fun out of it."

"I did tell you it was the most erotic experience of my life," Phil said, flushing again. 

Clint sat back, smirking a little. "So you liked it, is that what you're saying?" he asked. "Think you might want to do it again?"

"As often as I can," Phil promised. He could see the strain still present on Clint's face, but it seemed best not to mention it. "Although there are other things I'd like to try as well. There are a lot more options than just fucking, you know."

"I know one thing I'd like to try," Clint said, just a little hesitant. 

"Oh yeah?" Phil said. "What's that?"

"Returning the favor from this morning," Clint said. "I, uh, I really want to. I…this is kind of embarrassing, but I may have practiced some."

Phil's jeans suddenly felt tight. "You did, huh?"

"On a cucumber," Clint said. "I know, I know, it's stupid," he added over Phil's delighted laughter.

"No, no, it's great," Phil said. "A cucumber makes a lot more sense than what I tried."

"Okay, what did you use?" Clint asked, a glint in his eye.

"I tried taking a popsicle into my room, but my mom caught me--we weren't allowed to bring food into our bedrooms," Phil said, shaking his head at the memory. "So I decided to use my fingers. Except I got a bit too enthusiastic and ended up stimulating my gag reflex. I had to sneak down into the laundry room in the middle of the night to wash the puke out of my bedspread."

This time Clint was the one laughing with delight, and Phil could see nothing but that laughter on his face. 

That's when he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was in love with Clint Barton. 

"Get over here," he said, pulling at Clint until he was straddling Phil's lap, his thighs around Phil's. He kissed Clint, then kissed him again, and again--long, wet, deep kisses that left them both breathless. "I think I'm done with talking. How about you?" he said eventually, trying unsuccessfully to get Clint's shirt off.

"Mmm, I'm good," Clint said, pushing Phil's sweater up until he had to stop unbuttoning Clint's shirt to get the sweater over his head and toss it to the side. "This is good. I like this." 

Phil gasped once their chests met, skin on skin except for a single stubborn button near the bottom of Clint's shirt. It shouldn't have felt like such a shock of pleasure, but, God, it was like it was his first time all over again. Only it was better, because Clint, for all his lack of experience with men, seemed to know just what to do to make Phil stupid with want and pleasure. He seemed to be methodically seeking out each one of Phil's erogenous zones and exploring them fully. It was nothing like the timeless pleasure they'd shared that morning. It didn't feel rushed, but the attention Clint was paying to his body was focused and intent. It was like nothing Phil had ever experienced before, and he still hadn't even managed to get Clint's shirt off.

Clint's tongue was in his ear, and one of Clint's hands was rubbing up and down his back, strong and sure. The other hand was pressing against his fly, outlining his dick and squeezing. "Fuck," Phil said, groaning, "fuck, Clint, we need to be more naked, come on." It wasn't his smoothest line, but it seemed to work--Clint moved enough to help Phil wrestle his shirt down his arms and off. Phil leaned too far to the side, and they overbalanced just enough that Clint's knee landed on the remote, startling them both when the television came on. 

"Shit, sorry," Clint said, pushing a few buttons before he managed to get the television off again. It was just a blue screen, no sound, but they both got up without another word and went into the bedroom, pausing just long enough for Phil to hit the switch on the lights in the living room. 

Phil closed the door and took the hands that Clint was holding out, allowing Clint to tug him gently towards the bed. Clint stopped just short of it, so Phil stopped with him. 

The light was different from what it had been that morning, the glow of lamps rather than snowy dawn. Clint's skin was golden where it wasn't flushed, and there were glints of gold in his hair as well. The darker hair on his chest trailed down his belly to disappear into his jeans, and the bulge in them cast a very appealing shadow.

Phil's breath caught. He made some sort of sound in the back of his throat, and Clint looked up at him with eyes full of the same hunger Phil felt. He reached down and unbuttoned his fly, his eyes never leaving Phil's. "You said something about getting naked," he said as he pulled his jeans and shorts down and off with a smoother motion than Phil could ever manage.

Phil stared at him for a moment, taking in everything in front of him, especially Clint's cock, curved slightly to the left and angling towards his stomach. When he met Clint's eyes again, he could see a hint of uncertainty mixed in with the hunger. Phil took the rest of his clothes off as quickly as he could, and when Clint looked down at his dick, he looked more uncertain, even as he licked his lips. Phil moved immediately into Clint's open arms and kissed him, soft and easy. "We don't have to do anything you're--"

"Phil, just get on the bed," Clint said, pushing him gently. 

Phil got on the bed. Before he could open his mouth to ask what Clint wanted, Clint was there, covering him, kissing him, rolling his hips against Phil's, and all Phil could do was hold on and try not to moan too loudly. He tried to give back as good as he got. Clint certainly seemed to be into it; he was breathing as quickly as Phil was, and he was just as hard. Phil pulled Clint as close as he could, grasping at his back, his shoulders, and his ass, only to back off in horror when he realized what he'd done.

Clint dropped his head onto Phil's chest. "Damn it," he muttered. Then he looked up again and grabbed Phil's chin. "I'm just gonna say this once. My asshole is what's off limits--the rest of me is all yours. Got it?" He let go of Phil's face to reach for one of Phil's hands, which he firmly placed on his ass. 

"Got it," Phil said, getting a handful and squeezing. Fuck, it felt even better than it looked, and that was saying something. "Your ass is spectacular," he said, using both hands to encourage Clint to get moving again.

"I know," Clint said, flexing under Phil's hands and smirking. "Now, where was I? Oh, that's right," he said, and bent his head to gently bite just above Phil's left nipple. He ran his fingers appreciatively through the hair on Phil's chest, making happy sounds in between licks and kisses. "You are so fucking hot, Phil. Jesus."

Phil had never found his nipples particularly sensitive, but Clint's obvious enjoyment was making him reconsider. Still, he didn't mind when Clint moved up to his shoulder, his neck, back to his ear--good _God_ that felt amazing. He tried to give back as good as he got, putting his mouth and tongue on any bit of open skin he could reach, but it wasn't until he pulled two of Clint's fingers into his mouth and started sucking that Clint stopped what he was doing and let out a long moan, his cock stiffening noticeably against Phil's. 

"Fuck, Phil, you don't play fair," Clint said. 

Phil sucked harder, rolling his tongue around, and Clint moaned again. Then he pulled his fingers out of Phil's mouth and kissed him forcefully. 

"Okay, so, tell me if I do anything wrong," he said and moved down on the bed, gently pushing Phil's thighs apart. 

Phil gasped as Clint kissed a line up his inner thigh. "Pretty sure you won't," he said. "What with it being your mouth and my dick. At least, I assume that's where this is headed?" he added as Clint made another happy sound and nuzzled his balls. Fuck, that felt good.

"Eventually," Clint said and took one of Phil's balls into his mouth. 

It skirted the edge of being too much. Phil shivered; he gasped; he moaned as Clint continued to gently lick and suck at first one side, then the other. Finally, when Phil thought he was about to die from a combination of over- and under-stimulation, Clint moved on to the base of his dick. 

"For someone," Phil panted, "who's never done--fuck," panted again, "this before, you're awfully good at it."

Clint lifted his head. "I know what women like," he said, his face flushed, lips wet and pink. "And I know what I like. Just trying to apply my knowledge to some new skills, that's all."

"Well, don't let me stop you," Phil said, trying to regain his breath. "You know I'm always in favor of learning new skills."

Clint grinned up at him and wrapped his lips around the head of Phil's dick. 

He seemed to have given up on the idea of teasing or finesse and was just using his mouth and his hand to give Phil the pressure and suction he was craving. Phil didn't need finesse; he just needed Clint. It didn't take long at all before he was gasping again, his balls tightening, his body bowing in. He was barely able to get, "Close, I'm close," out in time for Clint to pull off and turn his head as Phil came. He made more noise than he was comfortable making with Ava upstairs, but he couldn't manage to stop. 

Clint surged up to kiss him before he was done coming, somehow still coordinated enough to finish things for Phil with his hand. Phil brought his hand down to join Clint's, catching some of the mess. He wriggled and repositioned himself until he could more easily get his hand around Clint. Clint rested his forehead on Phil's shoulder and moaned, thrusting desperately into Phil's grip until he, too, was coming. 

Clint considerately threw himself onto his side after he was done--Phil loved having Clint on top of him, but he was sweaty, and Clint was _heavy_ \--and they both lay there panting. Phil considered himself to be in excellent shape for a man his age, but he might need to up his cardio in the future if he was going to get to have such amazing sex with any regularity. 

"That went well," Clint said happily a few minutes later, his fingers idly moving on Phil's chest. 

"I'd venture to say we're sexually compatible," Phil said, turning his head and grinning at Clint. 

" _Extremely_ sexually compatible," Clint said, grinning back at him. "It helps that you're, like, the hottest person I've ever met."

"Me?" Phil said, gaping. "Clint, are you forgetting that I've seen Bobbi?" Then he grimaced, because what the fuck was wrong with him? Now was not the time to bring up Clint's _ex-wife._

A line appeared between Clint's eyes. "You don't…Phil. Come on. How can you not know how attractive you are? Half the students in my class had a crush on you!"

"They did not," Phil said, appalled. 

"They did so," Clint said firmly. "You're gorgeous, Phil. Your smile, your eyes, your body--the whole package. It doesn't hurt that you're scary smart, funny, compassionate--"

"Okay, okay," Phil said, flushing. "We can debate which one of us is more attractive some other time. Can we get back to the part where we discuss how sexually compatible we are?"

Clint looked at him, smiling softly. He reached up to caress Phil's face. "We're a lot more than that, I hope," he said. He bent and kissed Phil, his mouth warm and tender. Phil tried to put all the love he felt but couldn't yet articulate into kissing Clint back, and for a moment they were back in that timeless space they'd shared that morning. 

Then Phil felt something sticky in Clint's hair and pulled back, confused. "What?" Clint murmured, kissing him again. 

Phil started laughing.

"What?" Clint said again, a little sharply. "I thought we were having a moment here, Phil. It was a nice moment."

"You--" Phil made an inhuman effort and got his voice under control. "The moment was in fact ruined by the unfortunate presence of dried semen in your hair," he informed Clint with all the professorial authority he could muster.

"Really?" Clint said, checking for himself. "Yep, there it is." He shook his head and grinned. "That is a first. Definitely worth it."

"Come on," Phil said, getting off the bed and offering Clint a hand. "In the shower."

"You have the best ideas," Clint said, plastering himself against Phil's back. He stayed like that all the way into the bathroom, and even though he was sweaty and sticky and hot, Phil didn't mind a bit.

 

***  
The rest of the weekend, and then the next few weeks, went by in a blur of work, happiness, and fantastic sex. Both he and Clint were busy, but they found as much time as they could to be together. When Ava was home, Clint stayed with Phil, but she spent a few nights with Phil's mother, and Phil spent that time at Clint's place. 

Ava continued to be thrilled whenever Lucky was in the house, as did Lucky himself. Clint grumbled good-naturedly about Lucky's preference for girls, but neither he nor Phil minded that Lucky tended to sleep with Ava when Clint stayed over.

Ava's feelings about Clint were a little harder to suss out. She professed to be happy that Phil was happy, but every so often she whined that she wanted more time with him. It seemed to happen more frequently when she stayed over at her grandmother's, so maybe it was just that she missed being in her own bed. When he mentioned it to Clint, Clint shrugged and said he was fine staying at Phil's.

Phil almost told Clint he loved him about a hundred times. It just seemed like it would be better to wait. _He_ was sure; Clint was without a doubt the man he intended to spend the rest of his life with, but he didn't want Clint to feel rushed, not after everything that had happened with Bobbi. Phil would tell him when the time was right.

Meanwhile, he had a lot of planning to do. He was trying to figure out how to get Henry down for Ava's birthday without him missing too many classes, and he had to get out to California for a SHIELD conference before that, so the rest of that spring was going to leave him with even less free time than usual. Clint was about to start working off shifts to get to know all of his staff, so he wasn't going to be around as much either. It sucked. 

Phil told himself he just had to get through the rest of the semester. Once he got through May, he'd be able to relax. Clint would hopefully be done with his off shifts, and Phil wouldn't have any more traveling to do after the weekend at the cottage. Then Henry would be coming home, so he could look after Ava if Phil wanted to spend the night at Clint's again. He'd plan some sort of romantic dinner or something, maybe for Clint's birthday, and he'd tell Clint how he felt. 

Meanwhile, he had to get through the next couple of months. First up was the SHIELD meeting in DC over spring break, then Ava's birthday, followed by a visit from John Garrett, which promised to be entertaining as well as exhausting. Phil hadn't managed to narrow down the timing other than "probably in April or May," but that was par for the course. John would arrive when he wanted to. John was larger than life, and he didn't pay much attention to social conventions unless he felt like it, which he rarely did.

Phil hadn't seen him in a few years, but one of John's former students worked in Sinai's ICU. Phil had met Grant for coffee a few times, and between that and the occasional email, Phil kept fairly up to date on what John was doing and where. Sometimes he wondered if he'd enjoy that kind of life, alternating between working with NGOs in disaster areas and travel nursing all over the country. The way Grant talked had about John, Phil expected he'd be taking off to join John once he'd finished his MSN, but instead he approached Phil about working as an adjunct for City Colleges.

They were always looking for qualified adjuncts, and Grant was (mostly) an exemplary nurse, if lacking a bit when it came to people skills. The college took Phil's recommendation to have Grant work with Phil and his current clinical group for the rest of the semester, as both an orientation and a way to see how he was with students. It seemed to be working out well--Grant had thawed noticeably from the first week he'd been with Phil, and he seemed to have formed a bond with Jemma and Leo, as well as their friend Skye, who was in Lorraine's clinical group.

"There's something off about that guy," Clint said. It was Thursday night, and Clint was over to watch _Dog Cops_ with Phil and Ava, which had ended an hour earlier. Clint had met Grant when they'd all eaten lunch together in the cafeteria during clinical on Tuesday. 

"He's a bit of a cold fish," Phil conceded. "I think he's got potential, though."

"You think everyone has potential, Phil," Clint said, looking at him fondly. "You're pretty damned spectacular at getting it out of people, though. I hope Grant knows how lucky he is to get to work with you."

"I'm the lucky one, and not because of Grant Ward," Phil said, brushing his lips over Clint's knuckles. Clint smiled at him, and Phil smiled back. It was a good thing Ava wasn't in the room, because she would have made her disgust at their "mushy, sappy, grossitude" clear. "What time do you have to get to work tomorrow?"

"Early," Clint said apologetically. "You've got me for another hour or so, but then I should probably go. There's a big meeting for all the unit managers tomorrow at 7:30, and I've got some reports to pull together before then."

"In that case, you'd better come with me," Phil said, standing up. "I've got some ideas about how to best spend that time." Clint grinned and followed him into the bedroom.

***  
Clint worked that weekend, and they barely saw each other until the following Thursday. It wasn't the best night--Ava was in full petulant teenager mode, going on and on about the parties she wanted to have for her sixteenth birthday. Henry had never been anywhere near this difficult.

It was beginning to look like Henry wasn't going to be able to make it down from school for Ava's birthday, but Phil hadn't given up hope yet. If he came, he'd want to spend some time with his sister, not with his sister's mob of adolescent friends. Phil was getting a lot of pressure from his mother for some family time as well; she didn't seem to understand that he had some additional priorities in his life now. 

"I told you, Ava, you have a choice of two options," Phil said for what had to have been the twentieth time that evening. "You can either have a party during the day on Saturday, or you can have a slumber party on Saturday night. You can't have both." 

"That's not fair," Ava said, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Jeannie had _three_ parties, and do you remember what a big deal Marisol's birthday was last year?"

"That was her _quinceanera,"_ Phil said with what he felt was admirable patience. "If you wanted one of those, you picked the wrong family to be born into."

Clint wisely stayed out of it, eventually disappearing for long enough that Phil had to go looking for him. He turned out to be in the kitchen, making scones.

Phil always had some butter in his freezer these days; he and Ava were getting spoiled.

He waited until they were getting ready for bed until he asked if Clint was okay. "I know that was a lot more drama than usual," he said. "I hope it didn't make you uncomfortable."

"You hope it didn't drive me into a baking frenzy," Clint said, his mouth going up at the corner. "It didn't, not really. But I have been wondering about Ava's birthday. I have an idea for her present, but I wanted to run it by you."

"You don't have to get her anything," Phil said. After that night, Phil wasn't sure she deserved gifts at all.

"I want to," Clint said. "Is that okay?"

"Of course it's okay," Phil said, coming up behind Clint and putting his arms around Clint's waist. "But maybe you can tell me about your idea a little later? I've been waiting all week to get you naked, and I'm getting a little impatient."

"Later works," Clint agreed, hopping up on the bathroom counter and wrapping his legs around Phil.

Neither one of them had to be to work until the next afternoon, so Clint stuck around after Ava went to school. They were pleasantly post-coital, lazing around in bed, when Clint spoke up. "Cirque du Soleil is coming to town," he said. "Have you ever been?" 

Phil shook his head. "Always sounded like it would be fun, but I never made the time."

"A couple guys I know from back at Carson's work with them," Clint said. "I thought maybe I could get us tickets for Ava's birthday. You know, if you think she'd like it."

"I'm sure she'd love it," Phil said, watching Clint's face closely. "So would I. It wouldn't bother you, being back?"

"Nah," Clint said, too casually. "It's completely different from what I grew up with--a lot classier, for one thing. But I could probably get us backstage, maybe meet some of the artists."

"I think it's a wonderful idea," Phil said and pulled Clint in for a kiss. 

"Okay, good," Clint said. "I'll take that weekend off--is it okay if I stay here? I mean, if Ava has a slumber party?"

"It's fine," Phil said. "I wouldn't have it any other way, although you might want to keep your shirt on if you don't want to be ogled by a bunch of teenagers."

"Only person I want ogling me is you, babe," Clint said.

"Is that so?" Phil asked, trying to hide how bowled over he felt from Clint's casual endearment. 

"Mmm-hmm," Clint said. Phil dropped a kiss on the top of his head. "No one but me gets to ogle you, either."

"I don't think that'll be a problem." Phil repositioned his arm and closed his eyes. He'd have to go into work eventually, but he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity for a nap with Clint.

***  
Phil thought about inviting Clint to come along to DC, but he knew Clint wouldn't want to miss that much work so early in his tenure at the hospital. Besides, it's not like he'd have much free time--they had too much to do. Nick apparently had some sort of overall plan for the next several years that he wanted to get ironed out, on top of their usual heavy schedule; Phil was running several break-outs either by himself or with someone else, plus a luncheon for all the educational partners. He wasn't even bringing Ava with him this time; she was spending spring break with Susannah's family instead.

They all met for dinner the first night, as they always did. Pepper was there with Tony, Bucky with Steve, Jane with Thor, and Betty with Bruce, which was also familiar. Something bothered Phil about it. He was nursing a cocktail hour scotch when figured out that this was the first year that he _could_ have had his--whatever he should call Clint--with him. His significant other? His partner? His boyfriend probably worked. But the point remained. He had Clint in his life, and even if it hadn't been good timing this time, he could and would have the chance to introduce Clint to more of his friends than the few he'd met in Chicago. 

He told himself not to worry about it; it wasn't like this was the last opportunity he was going to have. He had plenty of time. His phone buzzed in his pocket--a reply to the text he'd sent Clint earlier. _Glad you're there okay. Tell Tony hi._ He was about to type a response when it buzzed again. _I miss you._

_Miss you too,_ he replied, and that's when Tony came up beside him.

"Who's got you all smiley all of a sudden?" Tony asked, peering over his shoulder. "It's creeping me out."

"My boyfriend," Phil said, because why the hell not. "My incredibly hot, awesome boyfriend," he added. It was possible he was a little drunk--he hadn't had scotch since before Clint had moved to Chicago, and Tony's scotch went down very smoothly. "He says hi."

"Holy shit," Tony said, grinning in that manic way he had. "I am actually impressed. You and Biceps finally got it on?"

"We did," Phil confirmed, preening just a little. 

Tony, being Tony, immediately called for everyone's attention. "I have an announcement," he announced. (Phil was definitely a little drunk.) "Our own Professor Phillip My Middle Name is Repression Coulson finally got some! Let's drink to Phil and Nurse Clinton This is My Resting Face Barton; they're registered at Chicago's finest medical supply shop."

Everyone cheered, and for the rest of the evening, people came by with congratulations and questions. Phil asked Clint take a photo (He refused to call it a "selfie." He had to preserve at least some dignity, even if he was drunk.) and send it to him when he realized he didn't have any pictures to show people. Clint sent a series of photos throughout the evening. Some were of his office; some were obviously taken by his co-workers. After he got home, he sent some more. Those were photos Phil did not share with anyone, although he did show Steve and Bucky one Clint took standing in front of his bathroom mirror, shirtless.

"I don't know, Buck; I might have to leave you for Phil's guy," Steve said, raising his eyebrows and grinning.

"Don't be so hasty, punk--maybe he'll share," Bucky said, leering. He started to flip to the next picture, but Phil snatched his phone back.

"That's never gonna happen, guys," he said. "Don't make me regret showing you this."

As he walked away, he heard Bucky saying something to Steve about Bobbi being single. Steve laughed and told him to shut up.

He saved the rest of the pictures for his room. Their experiment with phone sex wasn't completely satisfying, but they'd get some more practice in the next night.

He texted or talked to Clint every night. They all got on Skype when he ate at Natasha and Melinda's place, which helped a little, but it was still more difficult being apart than Phil had expected. Tony and Bucky continued to tease him, Steve was quietly supportive, and Natasha threatened to take out an ad in the City Colleges newspaper detailing Phil's love of _Supernanny_ if he so much as thought about hurting Clint. Phil kissed her on the cheek and promised he wouldn't.

Thor told Phil he was happy for them both that first night and never brought it up again, which was probably for the best. Intellectually, Phil knew there was no reason to blame Thor for what his brother had done or for the fact that Loki had been released after far too short a time in prison--if there was blame to share, Odin Odinson bore the brunt of it--but it had taken years for them to rebuild their friendship. Neither one of them wanted to do anything that would reopen old wounds.

Phil was surprised and pleased to see Darcy, who arrived halfway through the week. "Surprise!" she said, hugging him enthusiastically. They didn't get much time together, but he managed to wrangle a promise to come visit that summer out of her.

By the time the week was over, he was exhausted. Then his flight was delayed. They had to switch to a smaller plane, and he ended up in a middle seat. He was lucky his mother had been available to pick Ava up, but she wasn't comfortable driving after dark. He wasn't looking forward to taking a taxi home.

As it turned out, he didn't need a taxi--as he came towards the security exit, he saw Clint standing there. 

"I thought I told you I didn't need a ride," he said once he got closer, feeling better than he had all day.

"I thought I told you I didn't care," Clint said brusquely, reaching for his computer bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Phil, I haven't seen you in over a week. I didn't want to wait until tomorrow night. So do me a favor and just say thanks." He walked away without waiting for Phil to follow.

"Hold up a minute," Phil said, stopping Clint before he could get on the escalator. 

"What is it?" Clint asked. He was scowling a little. God, Phil had even missed Clint's scowl.

"Just get over here," Phil said. Not caring that they were blocking the middle of the aisle, he grabbed the strap of the computer bag and pulled Clint close enough for a brief but heartfelt kiss. "Thank you," he said after he stepped back. "I'm really happy to see you."

"Soon's we get back to your place, you can show me just how happy you are," Clint said. He was smiling. Phil had _definitely_ missed that smile.

Phil did his best to show Clint how happy he was. Based on the sleepy, contented look Clint gave him before he shut off the light, he was pretty sure he succeeded. 

The alarm on Clint's watch, set to vibrate in conjunction with his phone, went off only a few hours later, waking them both. "Sorry," Clint said, lifting his arm away from where it was resting on Phil's chest. 

Phil waited until Clint turned the light on before he said, "It's okay. What's going on?" It was at least two hours before Clint needed to get up.

Clint checked his phone with one hand while putting his hearing aids in with the other. "Hospital texted me. Some big fender-bender; they're calling me in."

"Shit," Phil said. 

"Yeah," Clint said, frowning. "It sounds bad--freezing rain. I'd better get going."

"Be safe, okay?" Phil said. "Let me know you got there all right?"

Clint nodded. "At least it's the weekend. Course, if it wasn't, you'd probably get a day off work."

"It wouldn't be much fun without you," Phil said, flushing a little.

Clint leaned over and kissed him. "I'll be back tonight."

***  
Clint didn't make it back that night or the next--too many of his staff couldn't get to the hospital, thanks to the weather, which didn't improve until Monday morning. Ava went back to school, and Phil went back to work. 

Between work, Ava's various extracurricular activities, and Clint's off-shift schedule, they barely saw each other for the next three weeks. Phil knew that Clint was planning on taking the weekend of Ava's birthday off, and he held on to that knowledge as tightly as he could.

He was in his office a few days before Ava's birthday when Clint came by. After making sure the door was locked and kissing Clint, he reluctantly sat back down. "You caught me in between students, but I've got another one coming in twenty minutes," he said. 

"That gives you twenty minutes to eat," Clint said, opening his messenger bag and producing sandwiches, coffee in a travel mug, and brownies. 

"You didn't have to do this," Phil said, but he was already biting into the sandwich. 

"Maybe I like feeding you," Clint said, shrugging. Phil wasn't sure what was going on, but he could tell there was something making Clint nervous.

"I like being fed," Phil said. "Thank you. Is this one of those times that I should be concerned as well as thankful?"

Clint shrugged again. "I was just wondering about Ava's birthday. I know I said I'd take the weekend off, but you haven't said anything about what the plans are. I have the tickets for the Sunday matinee, and I was thinking maybe I could make her a birthday cake on Friday. That's her birthday, right?"

Phil sat back, his sandwich forgotten. "My mom always makes the birthday cake," he said carefully. "It's a secret family recipe."

"Oh," Clint said, looking down. "I guess she's coming over, huh."

"We're actually having dinner at her place," Phil said, wincing internally. "It's a tradition. I wanted to invite you, but, uh, I don't think my mom's ready to meet you." 

The truth was, he'd tried to talk to her about it, but she'd cut him off before he could finish. He could still see the slightly pinched look she'd given him when she said she'd never met "one of your men" before. "I think I preferred it when you never talked about whom you were seeing," she'd said, adding that her granddaughter's birthday was hardly an appropriate occasion.

Phil had acquiesced quickly after that, knowing he was beat. "What about if you make scones on Saturday morning?" he asked Clint. "Ava loves the cinnamon chocolate chip ones."

"Sure, I could do that," Clint said, too quietly. "What time do you want me to get there?"

"After we get back from dinner, if that's not too late for you," Phil said. "I want to spend as much time with you as I can."

"Okay," Clint said. "I guess text me when you're leaving, or something?"

"I'll do that," Phil promised. "Clint--"

"I'd better get out of your hair," Clint said, standing up. "I'll see you Friday night."

"Clint, wait," Phil said, but Clint was already out the door. "Damn it," Phil muttered. He needed to do something special for Clint, something to let him know how much Phil cared about him. He'd have to come up with something by Friday.

Unfortunately, he never had time to think of the perfect thing to show Clint how important he was. He was just too busy; he barely had time to wrap Ava's presents, and it was still up in the air whether Henry was going to make it or not. To top it all off, there was something going on with Ava that he'd yet to figure out. She'd grown even more irritable, and she'd frowned when he'd reminded her Clint was coming for the weekend. 

Henry didn't confirm he was coming until Thursday night; he made it to the house on Friday with only a few minutes to spare before they had to leave to go to Phil's mother's. Phil wisely didn't say anything about the elaborate mustache Henry had grown, knowing his mother would say more than enough for both of them. Ava was too excited by Henry's surprise arrival to comment on his facial hair until they were well into dinner. 

He was paying more attention to Ava than his mother or even Henry as they ate. When he went into the kitchen with his mother to get the cake ready, she asked him about Clint.

That was unexpected. "He's fine," Phil said after he took a breath. 

"Ava tells me he's going to be around this weekend," his mother said. "She tells me it's serious, this thing with you and him. Is that why you told me about this one?"

"It is," Phil said uncertainly. He had no idea where this conversation was going. "And yes, he's coming over tonight and spending the weekend."

"And that's okay with Ava and Henry?" his mom asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Phil said, confused and frustrated. 

"I just thought maybe they'd want some time alone with you," she said. "Just family. Like tonight."

She finished with the candles before Phil could respond. Later, after cake, when they were getting their coats to leave, she said, "I suppose I should meet him sometime."

Phil stared at her a moment. "I thought you didn't want anything to do with him. When I asked about tonight--"

"Tonight was my granddaughter's birthday," she said. "That's family time, son. It wouldn't have been appropriate to bring a guest."

"All right," Phil said. "I'll talk to you later. We'll figure out a time; maybe we can have lunch." Lunch was non-threatening. His mother liked having lunch.

***  
It had been a long day. Phil was tired by the time they got home, but he perked up when Clint rang the bell. As usual, Ava let him in, immediately crouching down to give Lucky some love.

When Phil saw the way Clint had his usual duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he had to repress a touch of annoyance he couldn't quite figure out. A moment later he realized there was a part of him that resented the fact that Clint had to bring anything with him, that he still rang the bell and waited to be invited inside. It wasn't the first time the idea of Clint moving in had occurred to Phil, but they'd only been together a couple of months. It was too early to even think about such things; he hadn't even managed to tell Clint he loved him yet. He thought--he hoped--that Clint felt the same, but he didn't know. 

_Maybe he doesn’t,_ Phil thought. _Maybe that's why you haven't told him yet._

"Phil?"

He looked up into Clint's concerned face and shook his head. "It's nothing," he said. "Here, let me take that." He transferred the duffel from Clint's shoulder to his own and leaned in for a quick kiss. 

Henry had come up behind him, and he stepped forward as Clint hung his coat on the rack. "Clint, you remember Henry," Phil said awkwardly as Clint toed off his boots.

"Of course," Clint said smoothly, shaking Henry's hand. "Last time I saw you, you were a bit shorter, though." It took Phil aback to realize that not only was Henry taller than he was, he was taller than Clint. It made sense--he and Clint were the same height--but it still struck Phil as kind of amazing that his _son_ was taller than his _boyfriend._

Phil worried Henry might take umbrage at Clint's remark, but fortunately he just chuckled. "Yeah, well, last time you weren't dating my dad," he said, and Clint's face went blank. He relaxed when Henry added, "It's about time he had more in his life than work and me and my sister." 

"You got that right," Clint said, nudging Phil with his shoulder. That seemed to be all that was needed for Clint and Henry to take each other's measure and find it satisfactory. 

As soon as Ava was finished fussing over Lucky, she gave Clint a hug and puppy dog eyes that put Lucky's to shame. "Happy birthday, kiddo," Clint said, handing her an envelope. 

"Oooh, Cirque du Soleil!" Ava said after she got the envelope open. Phil didn't think she'd even read the card. Then she frowned a little.

"I'm sorry there are only three tickets," Clint said, a line appearing between his eyes. "I didn't know Henry was going to be here; I thought your dad could go with you and me."

"But then Henry won't be able to come," Ava said. 

There was a hint of a whine in her voice that Phil was determined to shut down immediately. "I'm sure Henry will understand," he said firmly, giving Ava a look to let her know he was onto her.

"It's cool," Henry said, shrugging. "I have a ton of reading to do."

Ava frowned again, but she didn't say anything beyond thanking Clint. She and Henry went up to their rooms a short while later.

"You want to watch some _Farscape?" ___Phil offered, because it was only 9:30. The offer was kind of ruined when he yawned, though.

Clint patted his cheek and pulled him up off the couch. "Time for bed, I think."

Phil didn't protest as Clint led him into the bathroom, kissed his temple, told Phil he'd see him in a minute, and left him there. He brushed his teeth and put on a t-shirt and pajama pants, then realized he'd gone through his usual bedtime routine without remembering Clint was there. Considering his options, he decided to leave everything on, figuring it would be added fun for both of them when it all came off. 

He got into bed and waited for Clint to finish his turn in the bathroom, thinking back to the first time they'd done this, more than two months earlier. Clint hadn't slept over enough times that it felt ordinary to have him here, but it was familiar enough to be comfortable. It was a nice feeling.

He figured he knew what would happen next--Clint would get into bed, they would have sex, and they would go to sleep--but instead Clint just took his hearing aids out, slipped under the covers, and flicked off the light. Phil turned towards him, unsure, and ended up resting his head on Clint's chest. Clint kissed his temple again and said, "Go to sleep, babe."

With the lights off and Clint's hearing aids out, there wasn't anything Phil could say that Clint would understand, so Phil just settled himself into Clint's embrace. He fell asleep to the sound of Clint's heartbeat.

The next day started out perfectly--he and Clint shared hand jobs in the soft morning light, and Henry made a surprisingly good vegan breakfast casserole with tofu and a bunch of vegetables. 

Ava complained that there wasn't any bacon, and Clint promised he'd make BLTs for lunch. The three of them sat around reading and listening to NPR until they were hungry again.

The sandwiches were delicious, like everything else Clint cooked. Henry dug in with the rest of them, saying, "I'm trying to eat as mindfully as I can, but it's not like I'm married to being a vegan or anything." 

Phil stifled a smile at the earnestness in his expression, clear as day despite the unfortunate facial hair.

"You have gunk in your mustache," Ava said. "It's gross. You'd better clean up before my friends get here. Or you could just shave it off--it looks stupid."

"I didn't grow it for you, Zsa Zsa," Henry said, making a show of wiping his face with his napkin. He'd called her that ever since Tony Stark greeted Ava as "Zsa Zsa, Darling" at Phil's annual SHIELD barbeque years ago, and Phil saw Clint smile when he heard it.

Dinner was a collaborative project from Phil and Clint involving pasta, salad, and homemade rolls. Phil mostly served as prep cook, but Clint gave him sole ownership of the salad, as he usually did. 

While they were eating, Ava said, "I've been thinking, and since it's my birthday present, I really want to go to Cirque du Soleil with Dad and Henry. We don't get enough time together for just us. That's okay, isn't it, Clint?"

" _Ava,"_ Phil started, but Clint spoke before he could figure out what else to say.

"I was hoping to go with you so I could take you backstage, but it's your birthday present. If that's what you want, that's what you should do." Phil hated the resigned tone in his voice, and he reached for Clint's hand automatically.

"You should go with Dad and Clint," Henry said. "I need to start on my Gender Studies paper anyway."

"But I hardly ever get to see you," Ava whined, sounding more like she did when she was ten than someone who'd just turned sixteen. "And I can't remember the last time the three of us did something together."

"We did a bunch of things at Christmas," Phil pointed out with what he felt was admirable patience. After all, these days _he_ hardly ever got to see _Clint._ "We went to the movies, we went to a concert--"

"That was months ago!" Ava said. "Seriously, Dad, maybe I really want some family time! Maybe I want to be able to talk to the two of you without anyone else there!"

"I'm gonna take Lucky for a walk," Clint said, getting up from the table. "Let me know what you decide. I'm fine either way."

"Clint, wait," Phil said, but Clint was already snapping Lucky's leash on and grabbing his coat. 

Phil tried not to yell at his kids, but Ava had pushed him past his breaking point. "What the hell was that?" he said. "I thought you liked Clint!"

"I do," Ava said. "I just want time with you and Henry. Like we had last night with Grandma--family time. Most dads of teenagers would be _happy_ if their kids _voluntarily_ spent time with them, you know."

The sheer petulance in her voice made Phil want to scream. There were times when Phil really, truly wished Ellie were here, not because he missed her (although he did), but because being a single parent sometimes _sucked._ "What's this really about, Ava?"

"I want to spend time with you and Henry," Ava said, frowning. "That's what it's about. It's not rocket science, Dad, geez."

"Look, Clint has to work Sunday night," Phil said, pinching his nose. "Henry, I know you were planning on heading back then, but how would you feel about staying until Monday?"

Henry shook his head. "I'm leading the discussion in my Political Movements of the Twentieth Century class Monday afternoon. I can't miss that."

They went around a few more times without getting anywhere. Phil was about to bang his head on the table in frustration when Clint and Lucky got back. The conversation about the circus was set aside by mutual unspoken agreement.

Ava's friends started arriving while Phil and Clint were still dealing with the dishes from dinner. Phil sent them all down to the basement, where they were audible even over the Blackhawks game Henry was watching--for a value of "watching" that included more attention paid to his phone and laptop than the television--in the living room. 

Phil and Clint joined Henry on the couch, which resulted in Henry moving to one of the oversized armchairs so that he could spread out his various accoutrement unimpeded by other human beings. The three of them made a few attempts at conversation. Henry and Clint were a touch more awkward with each other than Phil might hope for, but he could tell Henry was making an effort, at least in the moments he could tear himself away from his various electronic devices.

_Oh my God, I sound like my mother,_ he thought, horrified. He looked over at the game just in time to see the Hawks score a goal. They were playing the Penguins, so it was probably important that they win, especially with the short season, but Phil's father had been the hockey fan. Phil had always preferred basketball, although the long, baggy shorts now in fashion took something away from his enjoyment. Wishing that they still wore uniforms like they'd had when he was a kid was probably another sign he was turning into a crotchety old man.

Ava came pounding up the stairs with Susannah on a quest for popcorn. When Phil came back to the couch, the television was off, and Henry and his accoutrement were missing. 

"Henry go up to bed?" he asked, sitting close to Clint and putting his arm around him. 

"Yeah," Clint said. He was holding himself more stiffly than usual. 

Phil moved enough to the side to dig his thumbs into Clint's shoulders. "I'll talk to Ava again tomorrow," he said. "I'm sorry she's being so inconsiderate."

Clint shrugged, looking away. "Like I said, it's her birthday. The tickets were a gift; she can do what she wants with them. I'll just head into work tomorrow afternoon."

Phil didn't know what he was supposed to do. It seemed like any option he chose would cause problems. "I was looking forward to going with you," he said. "How long are they in town? Maybe we can go another night, just the two of us."

"I got the tickets over a month ago," Clint said, looking at him. "I called this morning to see if there was any way I could get an extra, but they're completely sold out."

"Shit," Phil said. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I know," Clint said. 

"I think I know a way I can make it up to you," Phil said, changing from massaging Clint's shoulders to stroking lightly down his chest. 

"You do, huh?" Clint said with a hint of a smile. There was a touch of sadness in it that Phil wanted to wipe away.

"I do," he confirmed before kissing Clint. 

"I dunno; I think I'm gonna need more than that," Clint said.

"Oh, I've got more," Phil promised. "Come on, let's go."

He did his best to show Clint how much he cared that night, and again the following morning, but nothing dispelled the faint unease he felt when Clint loaded Lucky into his car and kissed him goodbye just after lunch. 

***  
If you'd asked Phil for his impressions of Cirque du Soleil after the performance, he'd have had a hard time coming up with anything substantial. He spent most of the time imagining what it must have been like to see Clint perform and feeling guilty for not forcing the issue with Ava. Clint had agreed to give up his ticket so easily--maybe too easily. 

Phil thought it was probably because the birthdays of Clint's childhood were terrible. Who knew if his brother had even bought him anything; Clint had let it slip once that he'd pretty much never celebrated Christmas until after he met Natasha. Phil was such an idiot; of _course_ Clint would go along with anything Ava wanted.

He really needed to think of some way to show Clint how much he cared, but it would have to wait, because he had to get through dinner with Henry and Ava first.

Ava's favorite restaurant had been Michael Jordan's Steakhouse since it opened. Phil couldn't complain--they had great steaks, and he lived in hope that he might actually see MJ himself at some point. He would never forget the '91 finals when he and Jasper went down to LA and scored nosebleed seats for game four. He sometimes wished he could go back in time and have known Tony back then, because nowadays he used Tony's box a couple of times a year. Tony would probably buy him season tickets if he allowed it. Which he wouldn't. 

The Bulls weren't the same without Jordan. It was just too bad Phil hadn't met Tony until after Jordan's second retirement. MJ might not have succeeded at baseball or golf, but as far as Phil's family was concerned, he was great at restaurants. Maybe he should bring Clint here soon--buy him a huge steak to show him how he felt. Except that was boring and clichéd and not nearly enough; he needed some sort of grand gesture.

"Okay, so, I have something I wanted to talk to you guys about," Ava announced, pulling Phil away from his thoughts of showering Clint with gifts.

Phil racked his brain to try to figure out what bit of conversation had preceded Ava's statement. Something about one of Henry's friends, maybe. "What would that be?" he asked mildly, hoping neither of them had noticed him woolgathering.

Ava paused, biting her lip. Whatever this was, she took it seriously, and Phil figured it had something to do with how she'd been acting lately. _Please dear God let it not be about Clint,_ he thought desperately. 

It wasn't about Clint--it was worse. Ava wanted to talk about Justin Fucking Hammer.

"There was this interview--I read it in _People--_ and he said his biggest regret is not staying in his kids' lives," Ava said earnestly. Phil was wishing he'd ordered a smaller steak, or that he'd stayed away from the bleu cheese fondue. 

"Did he?" Phil asked faintly. "Well, he signed away that right when he went to prison. For crimes he was tried and convicted for."

"I don't remember much about him, but I remember enough to know he was a dick," Henry said, scowling almost as impressively as Clint at his worst. "Seriously, kiddo, you don't want to have anything to do with him."

"In the _New York Times_ he said he couldn't believe he'd never even laid eyes on me," Ava said. "He said he'd regret that for the rest of his life. I've never even _met_ him, and he's my real father!"

" _Bullshit,"_ Henry said, loud enough that the people at the table next to them turned around to look. "First of all, our real father is sitting right here, and don't you ever forget it."

Phil shot Henry a quick, grateful look--because, oh, that had hurt, even though he knew Ava hadn't meant it to--and Henry nodded in acknowledgment.

"Well, yeah, but--" Ava started, but Henry interrupted her.

"No buts, Ava," Henry said, still too loud for the restaurant.

"Let's not do this here," Phil said, hanging on to his serious parental voice by the skin of his teeth. "I think we should go. We've got leftover cake at home for dessert."

"But I want the twenty-three layer cake! It's my favorite!" Ava complained. "And it's not like there's anything left to talk about. I want to meet my father. I'm sixteen. I'm old enough."

Phil breathed in and out carefully and tried to loosen his jaw. "We'll get the cake to go," he said, nodding at the waiter who was openly watching their table. "And we'll finish this discussion when we get home."

The drive home was silent and awkward, but at least Ava had better sense than to try to argue her case in the car.

***  
The quiet in the car turned out to be the proverbial calm before the storm. Phil barely got the door open before Ava said, "Okay, we're home. Do you want to see the interviews I was talking about? I saved them; I can pull them up on my phone."

"That won't be necessary," Phil said, hanging his coat up. When he turned around, Henry was scowling again. 

"I'd like to see them," he said.

Ava winced at the tone of his voice, but she said, "Great!" like Henry shared her enthusiasm. She wandered over to the couch, tapping away on her phone until she'd found what she was looking for and handed it over to Henry with a small but triumphant smile. 

Henry's expression only grew grimmer as he read. Phil stood and watched, bracing his hip against the recliner, focused on Henry's face as much as Ava was.

"Like I said, this is _bullshit,"_ Henry said, throwing the phone onto the couch. "Fucking fact-checkers didn't do their fucking job."

"What do you mean?" Ava asked, the first signs of uncertainty creeping into her voice.

"Well, for starters, this crap about him never seeing you is wrong," Henry answered.

"What are you talking about?" Phil asked, stepping forward. 

"Mom took us to see him in jail," Henry said. "Didn't she tell you?"

"No, she didn't," Phil said, his heart hammering in his chest. "When did this happen?"

"It must have been right after her diagnosis," Henry said. "You were still in San Francisco. Ava wasn't even walking yet, so she can't remember, but I do."

"How old were you?" Ava asked. "You're not that much older than I am. Are you sure it really happened?"

"He was four," Phil said quietly. He could remember the day Ellie called him to tell him she had ovarian cancer like it was yesterday. His earliest clear memory was the Apollo 11 moon landing, and that was just after his fifth birthday. He guessed that seeing your father for the last time while he was in jail was as monumental an event in a young boy's life, sad as it was.

"I was four," Henry agreed. "Old enough to remember Justin Hammer signing away his parental rights, even if I wasn't completely sure what it meant at the time."

"Ellie brought you and Ava with her?" Phil asked. "Why would she do that?" It was a stupid idea. Ellie should have known better; she'd probably been too ashamed to tell Phil about it.

"I don't know," Henry answered, his shoulders so high and tight that Phil wanted to pull him into a hug and not let go for a long time. "Maybe she thought seeing his daughter at least once was something she should make sure of. Maybe she was hoping it would change his mind, or change him, somehow. I don't know. She never said."

"That doesn't mean anything," Ava said, a desperate stubborn edge in her voice. "He's changed. He's _different_ now. He wants to see me; he said so."

"Even if he does, he's not going to," Phil said. "There's a restraining order preventing him from getting within fifty feet of you or your brother." He'd talked to Henry about it once, but he'd never mentioned it to Ava, figuring there was no need.

"You can't keep me from seeing him," Ava insisted. "I'll wait until I'm eighteen if I have to, but I shouldn't have to. You can be there, Dad. You can be there. Nothing will happen. _Please."_

"You're not going to see him, Ava," Phil said. "If you want to when you're eighteen, I guess I can't stop you, but I hope you won't. Your…Justin Hammer was involved with some extremely dangerous people, and I doubt very much they've lost touch."

"Oh, come on," Ava said, waving her hand dismissively. "He's not involved with the _Russian mob;_ that's ridiculous. He probably testified against them, and that's why they let him out early; that's what it sounds like in the _USA Today_ article."

"Jesus, Ava," Henry said, disgusted. "Are you being deliberately stupid?"

"I think we've talked about this enough," Phil said firmly. The last thing he wanted to do was get into a detailed discussion of everything Hammer had done that they knew for sure, much less the stuff they only suspected but couldn't prove. It was enough that he'd managed to piss someone off enough to send goons to threaten Ellie and Henry when Ellie was pregnant with Ava. As far as he knew Henry didn't remember that, but Phil would never forget the way Ellie had sounded on the phone when she'd gotten home from the police station.

He massaged his forehead, but his headache only got worse. "I'm going to bed," he said, "and I suggest you do the same soon, Ava. It's been a long day." He gave them both a stern look, meeting their eyes in turn. "You're both old enough to have strong opinions, but I think you're also old enough to know when to put them away."

"I've got to take off soon," Henry said after a beat. "Dad?"

"Yeah?" Phil asked.

He was startled when Henry came over and enveloped him in a tight hug. "I love you." 

Phil dropped a brief kiss against Henry's cheek. "Love you too, son," he said softly. "Always have, always will. Drive safe, and text me when you get in."

"I will," Henry promised. 

Henry turned to Ava after he let go, pulling his sister close and kissing her cheek. "Love you too, Zsa Zsa Darling," he said. "Even when you're being an idiot."

"Yeah, I guess I still love you, even if you are being over-protective," Ava said. "You want some cake?"

"Sure," Henry said, following her into the kitchen. Phil went into his bedroom and shut the door. It took him a long time to get to sleep.

***  
The next morning Phil and Ava got up and went through their morning routines like normal, but there was a fragility to it that neither one of them acknowledged. Phil was relieved she didn't bring up Hammer again. He knew she would at some point; he just hoped it wouldn't be any time soon.

He lasted all of ten minutes in his office before he made the phone call he'd spent the drive in telling himself not to make. "Sorry if you're getting bored with Nurse Biceps, Phil, but I am taken," Tony said when he picked up the phone.

"I'll never be that bored, Tony," Phil answered smoothly. "Ever."

"Your loss," Tony said. "What can I do you for, Professor Coulson?"

"I need a favor," Phil said, maintaining as much calm as he could.

"Name it," Tony said. 

Phil knew he meant it. That's why it was so dangerous having the friendship--having the _trust_ \--of a man like Tony Stark. Not that there were any other men like Tony Stark out there. "Ava asked to meet Justin Hammer," he said bluntly. 

"What do you need?" Tony asked, all business. "Lawyers? I got lawyers coming out my ears. Say the word and he'll be so tied up in lawsuits he won't have two seconds where he's not being deposed."

"I was thinking more along the lines of law enforcement," Phil said. "Maybe a private investigator. Hammer's saying things that aren't true, and some of them are about my kids. I want proof he's lying. Proof he's still in with his old friends would be even better, especially if he ended up back in prison where he belongs."

"I'll see what I can do," Tony said. They talked for a few minutes longer, catching up, and then Phil went back to his day feeling just a little lighter than he had that morning.

The feeling lasted until he checked his phone. It was dead, and when he plugged it into the charger, he found he'd missed several text messages from Clint. 

_Shit._ He was a terrible boyfriend.

Clint was probably asleep, but he texted him immediately anyway. _Really sorry--phone died & drama c Ava last night; didn't see msgs until now. Come by the house before work? Miss you._

He didn't hear back. He told himself not to be nervous. Clint was sleeping. He'd get the message when he woke up.

Finally, as he was getting ready to leave for the day, a text came through. 

_Need to go for a run before work. Might stop by after._

Phil responded immediately. _We could run together. You can shower at the house, if you want._

The response came while he was nearly home; he read it before he got out of the car. _You don't fool me with that shower crap, Coulson. See you in half an hour._

Phil wasn't sure what he was supposed to make of that, so he put it away and changed into his running gear. It was a nice day for a run--the sun was shining brightly, and the spring flowers were blooming all over the place. He waited outside for Clint, stretching lazily and enjoying the warmth of the sun. 

Ava got home before Clint arrived. She was standing outside, backpack dropped at her feet, bugging him about Justin Hammer again, when Clint pulled into the driveway. She shut her mouth abruptly, only to hiss, "Don't tell Clint," as the man in question got out of the car. 

"What?" Phil said. "Why not?" He'd been looking forward to getting Clint's take on the situation, although he thought he'd have to broach the subject with care, given Clint's past.

" _Because,"_ Ava whispered. "Just promise me, Dad--don't tell Clint."

"Don't tell me what?" Clint asked, coming up next to Phil and putting his arm around Phil's waist. "You want me not to know something, you gotta remember I read lips," he added when Ava looked confused.

"You can't tell Clint," Ava said, looking away from Clint, but speaking loudly enough that it wouldn't make any difference. "I don't want anyone but family to know. Clint's not family, so you can't tell him."

Clint flinched, just a little, and Phil was suddenly furious again. He stared at Ava for a moment. "I give up," he said, throwing his hands up. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, Ava. Go inside and do your homework; you're grounded until you learn to be more polite."

"Dad, come on!" Ava whined, but Phil turned his back and started running, trusting Clint to follow him. 

When they'd run together before, they'd easily settled into a comfortable stride. Phil always suspected that Clint was taking it easy on him, but he enjoyed having a running partner--especially one as gorgeous as Clint--too much to say anything. Today, however, Phil took off quickly, nearly going all out. Clint kept up with him without a problem, giving him occasional concerned glances but not saying a word.

They'd gone nearly two miles when Phil got a stitch and had to slow to a walk. "Sorry," he said when he got his breath back enough to speak. "I don't know why Ava's acting like that."

Clint nodded. "Is it--I know you can't tell me exactly, but is it about me?" 

Phil knew that voice; it was the voice Clint used when he was close to shutting down. He hated that voice. "No," he said, taking Clint's arm and meeting his eyes. "I promise you, Clint, it has absolutely nothing to do with you. It's…well, the closest I can say is, it's a family thing, like she said." 

"And I'm not family," Clint said, looking away. 

_Not yet, anyway,_ Phil thought, then boggled internally as he realized the implications of that thought. "I want to tell you," he said. "I want to talk to you about it--you more than anyone. But it does involve Ava, and I've got to respect her privacy. I'll keep talking to her, and as soon as she's okay with it, believe me, I'll be ready to tell you all about it. You'll probably get sick of hearing about it."

"I doubt that," Clint said, one corner of his mouth lifting. "You ready to walk again?"

"Sure," Phil said. He'd fucked up again; he could tell. He wished he knew what to do to fix things. 

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Clint spoke again. "I was thinking," he said. 

"About?" Phil prompted after a moment.

"I thought maybe you and I could get away somewhere," Clint continued, glancing at him. "You know, take a weekend. Maybe your mother could watch Ava, or, I don't know, how soon does Henry get out of school?"

"That's a great idea," Phil said, turning towards Clint and smiling. "Henry doesn't get out until June 10th, but I'm sure my mother would be happy to keep an eye on Ava. I'll be done in another couple of weeks--pick a weekend after that and let me know, okay?"

"I'll do that," Clint said, giving Phil the first genuine smile he'd seen in a while. "Come on, let's go."

They took off at a reasonable pace and headed back to the house, where they shared a shower and a brief nap before Clint left for work. Phil's mood was so improved that he negotiated a tentative peace with Ava, rescinding the grounding in favor of extra chores and the promise of an apology to Clint the next time she saw him. It was only as he was about to sleep that night that he remembered he had plans for at least one weekend in May already, and those weren't plans he could change. Clint would understand; they'd just have to go a different weekend.

***  
They were gearing up for the end of the school year, and Phil was so busy he felt like he barely saw Ava, much less Clint. Besides the usual throng of students who had apparently just noticed they were failing, he had to pick up two of Lorraine's lectures when first her kids, then she and her husband got norovirus. His attempt to eat dinner with Clint at the hospital during clinical was interrupted by not one but three student phone calls, and the day Clint stopped by with lunch, Phil had yet another student crying about her grades in his office. Clint waited as long as he could, but by the time the student left, Phil only had ten minutes before class.

_I'll be off for the summer soon, I promise,_ he texted Clint that evening. 

_I'll be done with nights & weekends soon, I promise,_ Clint texted back. _Just gotta get one more orientee settled._

_Just gotta give the final & get the grades in,_ Phil responded. 

They got another run in more than a week after the last one. They were on their way back to the house when Clint said, "So, I was thinking--how's the weekend after next?"

"What's the date?" Phil asked absently, watching out for the uneven patch on the road where he'd sprained his ankle a few years earlier.

"The 25th is Saturday," Clint said. "It's Memorial Day that Monday, so I thought we could make it a three-day weekend."

_God damn it,_ Phil thought. He slowed to a walk. "I can't that weekend. I'll be out of town."

"I didn't know you had something for SHIELD coming up that soon," Clint said, glancing at him curiously. 

"I don't," Phil said. "It's a family thing. We go up to the cottage in Michigan every year around then."

"A family thing," Clint said, his voice flat. "You and Ava and Henry?"

"And my mom," Phil said. "We do it every year, just the family." He'd never told Clint about Ellie's death, not in any detail. It didn't seem right to talk about it then, on the street, out in public.

Clint was silent for a few strides. They were almost at the house when he said, "Look, I think I'm just gonna go. I should check in on Lucky before work; last time Simone almost forgot to feed him."

"Clint, I'm sorry," Phil said, putting his hand on Clint's arm. "What about the next weekend?"

"Katie's got that archery tournament that weekend," Clint said. "Just…don't worry about it. It's no big deal."

"We'll find a time that works," Phil said. Clint shrugged.

They walked up the driveway, and Clint stopped at his car. "Clint, please don't go," Phil said. "Not yet."

Clint looked at him for a long moment before he finally nodded. "Okay," he said.

Once they crossed the threshold, Phil took Clint's hand, intending to lead him towards the bathroom, but Clint stopped them just inside the bedroom. "Ava gonna be home soon?"

Phil shook his head. "She's over at Susannah's for dinner."

Clint nodded once and stripped off his shirt. "You okay with messing up the sheets? We're both pretty sweaty."

"Absolutely," Phil said eagerly. "But I don't sweat--I glisten." That got him a smile, even if it looked a little forced. 

Sex with Clint was always good, but Phil had to admit it'd been a while since he'd taken the time to savor it, to feel the joy of making Clint sigh and moan with pleasure. Clint seemed to be on the same page, his hands and mouth and body moving in concert with Phil's, slowly, with intention, with what Phil was beginning to believe might be the same love that Phil felt when he looked into Clint's eyes.

They finished within seconds of each other. Afterwards, Clint clung tightly to Phil, and Phil held on until, too soon, Clint pulled away with an apologetic smile. "I do have to work tonight," he said.

"Yeah," Phil said, a little hoarsely. "I know."

He should have told Clint then. Instead, he let the moment pass, as he had so many others. 

They showered together. Then Clint dressed in his scrubs, put his workout gear into his duffel, and left.

***  
The last review session before the final exam was the following afternoon, and it wasn't until Phil got home that night that he realized he hadn't heard from Clint all day.

_Everything okay?_ he texted.

An hour passed before he got a response: _Fine, just busy._

Phil blinked at his phone. He almost called Clint to ask him if something was wrong, but then Ava started up about Hammer again. He pushed it to the back of his mind, where it stayed until the following morning. He couldn't call Clint then; he'd be asleep. He texted again instead: _Come by for dinner if you can, or just to say hi. Anytime._

When the doorbell rang a few days later, he rushed to the door, but it wasn't Clint. He smiled to hide his disappointment, accepting John's typical backslap--as always, just a touch too hard--and loud greeting. 

John had two people with him--Grant Ward and someone Phil didn't recognize, who introduced himself as "Antoine Triplett, call me Trip."

Phil stood aside, knowing John wouldn't wait for an invitation in any case. Within five minutes they were sitting out on the deck with the beer that Trip had produced, and Grant was calling for pizza and wings. Phil had Ava call her grandmother to pick her up; he had never been completely comfortable having her around John, who was crude on his best days and completely inappropriate on his worst.

They moved inside when the food arrived, and that's where they were--sprawled over the furniture, replete with pizza and beer; it had been a long time since Phil had had pizza and beer--when Clint showed up.

"Hey, you're here," Phil said, kissing him enthusiastically. "Come in and meet everyone. I think there's still some pizza if you want some."

"Trip just ate the last piece," Grant yelled. 

Clint licked his lips. "Are you--are you drunk?" he asked. He had a canvas shopping bag.

"Maybe a little," Phil admitted, flushing. "They brought a lot of beer." 

"Your boyfriend's turned into a lightweight," John called out. "Used to take more than a couple drinks to get you all floppy, Coulson!"

"Three is more than a couple," Phil said, frowning. He pulled at Clint's arm until he followed Phil into the house. "Everyone, this is Clint. Clint, this is John, Grant--wait, you know Grant already--and Antoine 'Call me Trip' Triplett."

"Nice to meet you," Clint said, nodding politely. "Listen, Phil, I can't stay long--"

"What's in the bag?" John asked, taking it from Clint and opening it. "Coulson, I take back everything I said about your boy here, because these look delicious."

Phil saw Clint draw in his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he said, and Clint shook his head.

John had the lid open and his mouth full and was offering what looked like Clint's amazing Nutella scones to Grant. "Holy shit, these are amazing; between that ass and these whatever the hell they are, it's no wonder you're fucking him."

"Jesus, Garrett!" Trip said, snatching the container away from him. "Do me a favor and try not to be such a dick. Sorry, man," he continued, handing the scones over to Phil. "You know what he's like."

"I'm just--I'm gonna go," Clint said, turning abruptly and walking out, the screen door slamming behind him. 

It took Phil a few seconds to register what had happened, and by the time he made it out to the driveway, Clint was already pulling away.

"I think you'd better go," he said when he came back inside. 

"Aww, come on, Coulson, don't get your panties in a wad--we just got here!" John said, spreading his arms wide.

Why the hell had he ever thought John Garrett was worth his attention was beyond Phil, who now felt both sober and furious. "I mean it, John. I want you to leave."

There was something cold in John's expression when he stood up, and for a moment Phil had the crazy feeling John might do something--what, he wasn't sure, but it scared him a little, as did the matching expression on Grant's face. 

The stand-off was broken when Trip put his hand on John's arm and said, "You heard the man, John. Let's go." He mouthed "sorry" to Phil as he led John out.

Phil moved automatically to clean up the pizza boxes, beer bottles, and other detritus. When he went to pick up the shopping bag, he saw there was something else inside. It turned out to be a giant-sized bag of peanut M & M's--Ava's favorite candy--and some of the convenience store packaged donuts Phil kept hidden away in his desk at school.

He sat on the couch, his head in his hands, feeling like the worst kind of heel. He had to find some way to apologize, to let Clint know how much he was appreciated. 

Over the following week, he tried everything he could think of. He texted, he called, he arranged for Clint's favorite pizza to be delivered during the night. Clint answered his texts and sent a _Thanks for the pizza,_ but he ignored Phil's invitations to come to the house. 

Phil set his alarm for two in the morning and went to the hospital carrying a dozen roses. Clint laughed when he saw them, and for a little while Phil thought everything was going to be fine. Then one of Clint's nurses came by, someone Phil had worked with before. She asked them what they were planning on doing for the upcoming holiday weekend. Phil mumbled something about a family obligation, the nurse gave him a puzzled smile, and Clint shut down. The page for the rapid response team a few minutes later came as a bit of a relief, as Clint had turned monosyllabic.

Then Clint completely stopped answering his texts and emails. Things had gone horribly wrong somewhere. Phil knew it was his fault, but he didn't know how to fix it. He had to find a way, or he was going to lose the best thing that had ever happened to him.

In the middle of all of it, he was trying to organize the annual trip to the cabin. He called Henry to find out whether he was planning on driving to Chicago and going with the rest of them or just flying into Traverse City. "I'll meet you there," Henry said. "I'm looking forward to seeing Clint again--how's he doing?"

"Clint?" Phil said faintly. 

"Clint," Henry said. "You know, the guy you're head over heels for. He's coming, right? Or does he have to work?"

"He…things aren't too great with us right now," Phil said, swallowing hard.

"What happened?" Henry asked, sounding as gentle as Phil had ever heard him.

Phil started to tell him, but Henry interrupted before he got very far. "Wait a minute," he said. "Are you telling me you didn't ask Clint to come this weekend? Jesus, Dad, no wonder you've been single for so long."

"What do you mean?" Phil asked defensively. "You know how your grandmother is; do you really think this would be the best way for her to meet Clint?"

He could hear Henry blow out a breath. "I'm gonna propose a thought experiment for you, Dad. Are you ready?"

"Sure," Phil lied.

"It's a few years from now. I'm in grad school, and I've met this woman, and I love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. You haven't met her yet, because you haven't seen me in a few months, but Mom's weekend is coming up, and I ask you if it's okay if I bring this girl, this love of my life, with me. What would you say?"

"…I'd say of course it's okay," Phil said. "But I'm not your grandmother, and you're talking about a woman, not a man."

Henry snorted. "Let me ask you this, then," he said. "Do you love Clint?"

"Yes," Phil answered, because that was easy.

"Do you want to spend the rest of your life with him?"

"Yes, I do," Phil said, which was a little harder to say, but just as true.

"Can you see yourself, at some point in the future, asking him to move in? Maybe getting married?"

"Yes," Phil said, although the admission terrified him. He never lied to his kids, and he wasn't going to start now. 

"Then forget about Grandma," Henry said. "This is about you, Dad. You're allowed to have a life, and you're allowed to have the man you love with you at the important moments in that life."

"Who taught you this stuff?" Phil asked, rubbing his forehead. "Because I sure didn't. You've definitely outpaced me on this, son. I'd say you were a prodigy, but I think it's more likely that I'm just an idiot."

"It's just love, Dad," Henry said, and Phil could hear the smile in his voice. "You taught me plenty about that. Oh, shit--Dad, please tell me you've at least told Clint how you feel about him. Because if you haven't done that, I take it back--you are an idiot."

"I'm an idiot," Phil said, dropping his chin to his chest. "I am a goddamned idiot."

"So go tell him now," Henry said. He sounded remarkably like Phil did when he was talking to a particularly recalcitrant student.

"I can't," Phil protested weakly. "He's at work, and he's not answering my texts."

"Sounds like it's time for a grand gesture, something like in one of those eighties movies you like. The one with John Cusack and the guitar," Henry suggested.

" _Say Anything,"_ Phil said. "And it was a boombox. I don't think they even make those anymore."

"Don't be so literal, Dad," Henry said. "I'm gonna hang up now and give you some time to plan the appropriate gesture. Let me know how it works out, okay?"

"I will," Phil promised. "Thanks. Love you."

"See, it's not that hard to say. Love you too."

***  
Phil looked at his watch again. Ten-thirty. He'd been sitting on the couch feeling paralyzed for the last two hours. Like every other time he'd thought about telling Clint how he felt, he was stuck on finding the best way to do so.

If Clint was working a twelve, he'd have been at the hospital a few hours already, but if he was only working 11-7 he'd just be getting there. 

If Phil were a better person, better at communicating, he'd _know_ when Clint was working, because Clint would still be talking to him. This was put up or shut up time, his last chance to fix things.

Phil could head to the hospital now and confess his feelings in front of everyone. It might make the gesture more grand, but Phil wasn't sure that was the best move, eighties movies notwithstanding. There was a lot that Phil wanted to say, and he didn't want to say it in front of an audience, especially not one full of people they both worked with. He didn't think Clint would want that either.

The best thing, he decided, would be to see Clint when he got home after work. He'd wait at Clint's door if he had to. 

He didn't expect to sleep, but maybe getting to this point was a relief in some way, because he got several hours before his alarm went off. He knocked on Ava's door to tell her she'd have to get herself ready for school, and he headed for Clint's apartment building in plenty of time to get there by 7:30. He decided that he would rather be early and have to wait than risk missing Clint. He'd even take Ashland to avoid any problems on the freeway.

It would have worked out just fine if there hadn't been an accident on Ashland. He finally arrived at Clint's building a little after eight, but when he rang the bell, there was no answer. Maybe Clint was already asleep, and he'd missed his chance. Then he realized that he should have heard Lucky barking instead of silence. Hoping Lucky wasn't just staying with Kate, Phil decided to wait.

He'd been sitting on the floor outside Clint's door for nearly fifteen minutes when he heard Lucky's tags jingling as he ran up the stairs. Seconds later he had a lap full of enthusiastic dog with a side of dog slobber. He didn't mind, though. "Hey, boy, I missed you too," he said into Lucky's fur. It gave him a few extra seconds to breathe before he had to stand. By the time he got up, Clint had already disappeared into his apartment, leaving the door ajar, presumably for both Phil and Lucky.

Clint was hanging up his coat and Lucky's leash when Phil came in. He didn't look at Phil. "Not doing this without coffee," he muttered, turning towards the kitchen.

Phil closed the door and stood in front of it, unsure whether he should follow Clint or stay where he was. He glanced down and noticed an open box on the floor next to the closet. He could see a faded, stretched out UIC t-shirt on top. He must have made some sort of sound, because Lucky licked at his hand and leaned against his leg. 

Phil didn't look to see what was under the shirt, but he figured it included the copy of _The Emperor of Maladies_ he'd loaned Clint, the sweatshirt he'd left there one morning, maybe a pair of pajama pants or some socks. It wasn't much. Maybe that was part of the problem. Phil just hoped he hadn't missed his chance to fix things.

He could see Clint standing in front of the coffee pot, staring at it like he could speed up the process with his mind. It was so familiar, and Phil loved seeing it so much--loved _Clint_ so much--that he was moving towards him without consciously deciding to.

Once he got close, Clint looked at him for the first time. It was only then that Phil noticed the dark circles under Clint's eyes and a sallow tint to his skin. He looked worse than he had the night Loki assaulted him. 

"What are you doing here, Phil?" Clint asked, sounding like he'd been working for sixteen or even twenty-four hours instead of eight or twelve. 

"I need to talk to you. Please don't break up with me," Phil said, his voice breaking before he got it back under control. "I came here to talk; can we do that?"

Clint looked down. "I think you have to actually be in a relationship to break up."

"What?" Phil was pretty sure his mouth must be hanging open.

Clint met his eyes. "I'm not gonna be your fuckbuddy, Phil. That's not what I want. I thought you knew that."

" _Fuckbuddy?_ That's not what I want either," Phil said desperately. "Please, Clint--I know I fucked up, I took you for granted, I didn't let you know…I'm sorry. There are things I need to tell you. I don't want to lose you again. Please."

Clint dropped his chin to his chest and sighed. Neither one of them spoke for a few seconds, which gave the coffee time to finish brewing. That's when Phil noticed that Clint had two mugs on the counter--the purple one that was Clint's favorite and the Superman mug that Phil had used when he'd stayed over. Clint poured the coffee into that first and handed it to Phil. "What things?" he asked.

"Three--no, four. Four things," Phil said, then took a sip of his coffee to try to focus. Clint was willing to listen to him, but that didn't mean he was in the clear. "Could we maybe sit down?"

Once they'd settled themselves onto stools, Clint gulped half his coffee, put his mug onto the counter. "What things?" he asked again.

"Okay, first, I'm sorry," Phil said, shifting uncomfortably on the stool. "I never should have let things get like this. I know I've hurt you, and I'm so sorry. It's never been about the sex for me--that's never been all I wanted. I know I didn't do a good job of communicating that. I hope you can give me another chance to let you know how much you mean to me."

He looked at Clint to see how he was responding, but he was keeping his face carefully blank. Phil wasn't sure exactly how he should proceed, but he knew he had to keep talking. "The second thing is, I want you to come to Michigan with me this weekend. I know it's short notice--we're leaving in the morning; I'd delay that if I could, but I can't--but I really want you to come."

"I thought that was a family thing," Clint said. The slight frown he wore wasn't the most hopeful expression, but it was better by far than what had preceded it.

"It is," Phil said. "It's definitely a family thing. That's why I want you there with me."

Clint studied him closely, and Phil reminded himself to breathe. "What about your mom?" Clint asked after a moment. 

"My mom needs to get over herself," Phil said, waving his hand. "You're important to me, and I want you there. If she doesn't like it, she can fuck off."

The corner of Clint's mouth went up, and Phil started to breathe just a little easier. "She can, huh? What about Ava?"

"I told Ava last night that I wasn't going to keep any more secrets from you, and that included the fact that she is bound and determined to see her asswipe of a biological father," Phil said. 

"She wants to see Hammer? You're not going to let her, are you?" Clint asked, clearly alarmed by the prospect.

Phil shook his head. "Over my dead body. Legally, he's not allowed within fifty feet of her, and that's the way it's gonna stay."

"Good," Clint said decisively. "That guy gives me the creeps, and I've never even met him. What else?"

Phil took a deep breath and said it. "I love you. I should have told you weeks ago, or months, but I was too chickenshit. I'm so in love with you it fucking terrifies me, Clint. I was so scared I was going to lose you again that I--"

Clint cut him off with a kiss. It was over almost as soon as it began, but it was enough that Phil's heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. "Clint?" he said, reaching out to touch Clint's cheek.

"You fucking jackass," Clint said, pointing at him. "You idiot! You _asshole,_ what the fuck is your problem? Tell me something, Phil--why the hell do you think I moved to Chicago in the first place?"

"Because you wanted to see what happened with us?" Phil tried.

Clint shook his head and threw his arms up in the air. "You are so _stupid_ sometimes, Phil, I swear. I moved here because I was _in love with you,_ which you would have realized if you'd thought about it for five minutes instead of letting yourself get caught up in your stupid, _stupid_ insecurities."

"Was?" Phil asked.

"See, that's what I mean," Clint said, pointing at him again. " _Stupid._ Was, am, probably always will be--"

This time it was Phil who cut Clint off with a kiss. It went a little longer, and it was a little softer, than the last one. Phil would have loved to kiss Clint forever, but there was more to discuss, and he wasn't going to let himself get distracted. 

When he pulled back, Clint was smiling at him. "Okay, so maybe you're capable of learning," he said. 

"I love you," Phil said, and this time there was nothing but certainty in his voice.

"I love you, too," Clint said, "but that's not the solution to everything."

"I know," Phil said. "I want to explain--not making any excuses, but there are things I still need to tell you."

"Okay," Clint said, looking at him seriously. "I'm listening."

Phil stood up and offered Clint his hand. "Could we go over to the couch?"

Clint nodded and went with him into the living room. When they sat down, Phil fussed at Clint until he was nestled in Phil's arms. "So, number four, huh?" Clint asked once they were comfortably settled together.

"Yeah," Phil said. He paused to kiss Clint's temple. "Number four. This weekend--I need to tell you what it's about."

"Okay," Clint said. "What is it about?" He put his hand on top of Phil's, stilling the fidgeting Phil hadn't even realized he'd been doing.

"The cottage has been in my family since my grandfather built it, and when we were growing up, we'd go there every summer for at least a week or two," he said after a moment. "Ellie and I loved it, and so did my dad; my mom tolerated it because she knew how much it meant to the rest of us. I didn't go for years, because of my dad, but when Ellie was dying, she really wanted to go back. I drove her up there that May, thirteen years ago. I wasn't sure she'd even survive the trip, but she did, long enough that my parents came up to see her on her birthday, May 22nd. She died the next day."

"Shit, Phil, why didn't you tell me?" Clint said, squeezing his hands.

"I thought we covered that already," Phil said, giving him a smile that was only a little watery. "Ever since then, we've gone up, all of us, for at least a weekend, as close to this time as we can."

"So she died thirteen years ago today," Clint said, and Phil nodded. "How old was she?"

"Forty-two," Phil said, blinking against the burning in his eyes. 

Clint turned in his arms. "I'm sorry, babe."

"Yeah, me too," Phil said, resting his head against Clint's. 

"I don't have to go," Clint said, running his fingers through Phil's hair. "I get it."

"No, you don't," Phil said, taking his hand and kissing it. "I love you, and I want you with me, pretty much always. You're as much a part of me as Henry and Ava are. Maybe I shouldn't be saying that this soon, but I'm sick of holding it all in, sick of being afraid to say it. As far as I'm concerned, this is it for me--you're it, and I want you with me for as long as you'll have me."

"For the record, that's most likely forever," Clint said. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't exhibit any more monumental stupidity, though," he added fondly.

"I promise to try my best," Phil said. "So, will you come?"

"When are you leaving?" Clint asked. "I'm working again tonight."

"The plan is tomorrow around nine," Phil said. "I could probably push it to ten, although Mom won't like it."

"No, nine works, as long as you don't mind me sleeping in the car on the way up there," Clint said. "Hey, what about Lucky?"

"Bring him," Phil said. "You could bring him tonight before work, if you want. Ava's missed him, although I doubt she'd admit it at the moment."

"You sure she's gonna be all right with all of this?" Clint asked, looking worried.

"She's sixteen," Phil said with a shrug. "I wish I could predict how she'll react to things, but I can't. What I can do is make sure she knows when she's behaving in an unacceptable manner, and that's what I'm going to do." 

"Okay," Clint said. "Let me make sure I've got this straight. You want me to come over tonight and drop off this guy, and then come back in the morning, when I will meet your mother before making a five hour drive to your family cabin to commemorate the loss of your sister."

"Yep, although you'll probably meet my mom tonight," Phil said. "Darcy will be there, too, once we get up to the cottage. She--she was with us, that whole time Ellie was sick, and she stayed to help with the kids for years after that, you know?" 

Clint nodded in understanding, his face open and accepting. Phil was so grateful he buried his face in Clint's neck for a moment. "I hope you'll be there for the years after this," he added. "But you don't have to come if you don't want to. I mean, I want you to, but only if you're okay with it."

"Don't be stupid again," Clint said. "I'll be there." His nose wrinkled up and his jaw opened in a prodigious yawn. "Sorry."

"I should go so you can get some sleep," Phil said, although it was the last thing he wanted. 

"Don't," Clint said. "Come to bed with me, at least for a little while. You don't have to go to work today, do you?"

Phil shook his head. "I can stay." Clint smiled, and when he got up from the couch, he went to the door and picked up the box of Phil's things and carried them into the bedroom, wordlessly taking the UIC t-shirt and offering Phil the pajama pants that were underneath it.

Neither one of them brought up sex, and for the first time Phil realized how Clint might have felt that it was all he cared about. So before Clint took his hearing aids out, Phil cupped his cheek in his hand and said, "I love you." Then he kissed Clint's forehead and slipped under the covers.

"Yeah, me too," Clint said softly. 

The shades were down, but they weren't enough to keep the room dark. Clint closed his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately, but Phil watched him in the morning light for a few minutes before he, too, fell asleep.

***  
The chime of his cell phone woke him up, although it took him a moment to realize what it was. He got out of bed as carefully as he could, managing not to wake Clint, although he snuffled into the pillow and twitched a little. It was a text from a student requesting a reference, nothing he needed to respond to immediately. According to his phone it was 11:43. As tempting as it was to get back into bed, he had things he needed to do.

He retrieved his clothes, watching Clint sleep as he got dressed, feeling more happiness than he knew what to do with. He stood there for a few minutes, soaking it all in, before going out to the living room to find his shoes. 

He left a note on the counter next to the spare key he'd brought with him. 

_Thought it was about time I gave you this. You already know the code for the alarm, and I'll get the garage door opener to you either tonight or tomorrow. You don't need to ever ring the bell again--you will always be welcome, even if no one's home. I hope you'll come for dinner, but I understand if you don't have time before work. Whenever you get off, please come right over, even if it's three in the morning. I'll be waiting for you. I love you._

"Guess Clint's asleep," Kate said, key in hand, as he opened the door.

"He is," Phil said, smiling at her. 

"Good," she said. "Now get out of my way--it's time for Lucky's walk."

"Of course," Phil said. "Would you like some company?" 

Kate looked at him. "You fix things with him? For real?"

"Does telling him I'm in love with him count as real?" Phil asked, his smile widening. "I mean, he seemed pretty satisfied, but I don't know what your standards are--"

"God, shut up," Kate said, snapping Lucky's leash onto his collar. "You're practically glowing. Come on--there's a Sumatran dark roast and a turkey and brie on brioche waiting for me down the street, and you're buying."

"Sounds great," Phil said, gesturing for her to lead the way. After lunch, he went shopping (for the trip, although he also picked up Clint's favorite soap, shampoo, and other toiletries), packed, emptied a couple of drawers of his dresser, emptied and then filled one in his bathroom, and made dinner. Clint stopped by in time to meet Phil's mom and get a surprisingly tight hug from Ava, although he didn't stay for dinner. 

"Earlier I get to work, the earlier I'll be able to leave," he explained, fiddling with his keychain. Phil smiled when he saw that the key he'd left for Clint was there. Before Clint left, he took the extra garage door opener out of Lola and gave it to him. 

When he went to bed that night, he had to force himself to stop smiling, close his eyes, and go to sleep. Clint slipped into bed beside him sometime before sunrise. Phil turned toward him, pulled him close, and went back to sleep.

END

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me either at [my fannish tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/shellumbo) or [my pro writing tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sbyzmcpherson). Or you can follow either on Twitter: @shellumbo or @sbyzmcpherson. Or both!


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